Chapter Text
The inside of Toushirou's head is brimming with so many competing thoughts and emotions, that they may as well form their own official league of mindfuckery. In fact, he feels like he’s experienced a wider array of emotions in the last couple days than he has in the last year and it’s enough to make him question his sanity on a fundamental level.
Just earlier that day he was determined to find some way to get the Yorozuya off his back, but instead all he succeeded in doing was getting the Yorozuya under him. He can’t believe his dick betrayed him like this! Worse still, he’s now agreed to get emotionally involved. So, it’s not just his dick stabbing him in the back, it’s his heart as well. It’s an unfair, two-against-one, knock-down-drag-out brawl with both of them engaging in guerilla warfare against his brain. And he doesn’t even hate it!
He blows an oversized cloud of smoke from his spot on the tiny balcony, takes a deep breath relative to what his diseased lungs will allow, stubs out his cigarette, and immediately lights up another. When he looks at the world outside, it seems like everything could be normal. It’s the same skyline, same terminal, same Edo that he’s known for years. Below is the same Kabukicho, just as shabby as when he arrived that afternoon. But he knows when he walks out of this stupid love hotel, he’s going to be different, and he can’t help but feel a little disturbed about that.
Ordinarily, Toushirou walks through life with an ironclad emotional wall made from a hundred protective layers of anger and denial, but that’s changing. All because some lazy, horny diabetic with a crush decided to peel back layer after layer of this barrier until he found Toushirou’s soft, chewy center. And how can he complain when the guy was offering his vulnerable self right from the start? Even at the sauna when he asked Toushirou to meet him, undeterred by the very real possibility of rejection. Toushirou was just too much of an asshole—and scared—to think any of it could have been sincere.
Now he can’t even pretend he hates the man anymore. There are things about the Yorozuya that he can admit he genuinely likes beyond the physical aspects and his skill as a samurai.
And he reali—HOLYSHITMOTHERFUCKER! He’s jolted out of his thoughts by an ice-cold hand on his bare shoulder.
“Y’know, Hijikata-kuuun, when normal people take a smoke break they usually have one, maybe two, so what the hell is the hold-up? Are you trying to puff Thomas the Tank Engine right out of a job?” Gintoki drawls and pulls Toushirou by the shoulder to turn him around, revealing not one, not two, but three cigarettes stuffed in his mouth and two more burning away between the index and middle fingers of each hand. “Hey, Zoro, who three-sword styles cigarettes, oi?!”
One by one, Toushirou extinguishes his cigarettes in his ashtray as his foot hammers on the cement flooring like it’s trying to tunnel its way through the balcony. His voice comes out stilted when he responds, “Ha ha ha. What do you mean, Yorozuya? I’ve always smoked like this. It’s the new trend—everyone’s doing it in the smoker world. I’m actually training for the Smokers Cup in experimental smoking. Ever heard of it? Probably not. It’s niche. Anyway, how are you?”
“So, you’ve always smoked like that, but it’s also a new trend, huh? Interesting.” Gintoki musters his best blank stare and shoves a pinky finger up his nose, before giving Toushirou’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze with his inexplicably freezing (and sticky?) hand, “You know, it’s okay if you want to change your mind. We don’t have to do it. I mean, sure, I’ll probably die from blue balls pretty soon. But it’s okay. It’s a risk Gin-san Jr and I are willing to take.”
Toushirou is loath to admit it, but there’s a strange comfort in the Yorozuya’s bullshitting that helps settle some of his nerves. With a little effort, he eases into some bickering, trying to sound slightly less unhinged this time, “Oh yeah? Here I was thinking that blue balls were something guys made up to pressure people into having sex with them. But I guess if a paragon of virtue like yourself is suffering from it, then I suppose it must be real.”
“Ouch. See, it is real,” Gintoki begins, surreptitiously wiping a booger on the balcony rail. “The thing is just that you gotta have balls to get it, so it makes sense that you wouldn’t know anything about it.” He scoots closer, getting into Toushirou’s face.
“That’s funny. I’m pretty sure you got pretty up close and personal with them not too long ago. Isn’t that right?”
“Gee, I don’t know if I remember. Maybe I should check again, hm?” Gintoki uses this as an excuse to slip one of his cold hands into Toushirou’s track pants, the shock of which has Toushirou nearly falling over the railing and raising goosebumps across the entire surface of his skin.
“Holy fuck, Yorozuya! Why in the hell are your hands so cold?!”
Gintoki grins at him as Toushirou rips him away from his junk. “Oh, this?” he says, sticking his hands up innocently, “Well, you were taking your sweet time out here, so I figured if you were going to have the world’s longest smoke break, then I might as well try to take the edge off, too. And lucky me, this hotel has an entire menu just for desserts. Did you know ice cream flights are a thing? Well, I didn’t.”
Obviously, this doesn’t add up for Toushirou. There’s no reason just having some ice cream should make anyone’s hands feel like they’ve been locked in a deep freezer! Concerned over what exactly the Yorozuya has been getting into during his very reasonably timed smoke session, he pushes his way back into the hotel room. And, well, “some” is a relative amount, and he really should know better than to assume anything reasonable from Gintoki.
“Why does it look like an entire goddamn Bargain Dash retail store blew up in our hotel room?!”
“Oh, come on Hijikata-kun. It’s just a little room service. It’s fine,” he says, pointedly not looking at the myriad of empty or mostly empty glasses, bowls, trays, and buckets cluttering every available surface.
“Just a little—How? Who’s paying for this, asshole?” Toushirou is paying for it. He knows he is. He knows it so instinctively that it’s not even worth getting mad over.
“Look, there’s no need to burden ourselves with things in the past or what’s on whose tab,” Gintoki waves his hand dismissively. “Besides, you were out smoking forever and I was hot from the shower and this has been a hard day for poor Gin-san, too. So, you know, sometimes a person needs to seek comfort where they can. And if we’re going to do This thing, you should be aware,” he places his still sticky, marginally less cold hand on Toushirou’s chest and leans in to whisper in his ear, “I’m an emotional eater.”
All Toushirou can do is sigh, because he knows he’s just as bad. It’s not every day you find your perfect match in stupidity and vice.
Slowly, he feels Gintoki’s hands trail down his flanks to his hips and ass and back up again. When he picks his head back up he sees the kind of look on Gintoki’s face that makes his chest constrict painfully; it’s one part horny, one part love-struck, and, to Toushirou, one-hundred percent, gut-evacuatingly terrifying. But he knew this was coming, and he said he would try, so he will. He promised himself he would try.
“It’s okay, we can go slow,” Gintoki says as if they didn’t already blast through bases one, two, and three just to faceplant on home.
“Yeah, I know.”
Toushirou sucks in a calming breath and weaves his fingers into Gintoki’s damp perm, bringing himself in close to initiate a kiss. He’s met halfway by Gintoki, who pulls him in tighter by the waist. They’ve shared several kisses by now, slow and sensual, rough and unrelenting. This is the only one that has felt sweet—and not just because someone just ate a metric fuckton of sugar. It’s unpressured in the way their lips join and part and come back together, slowly adding tongue.
They’re so close Toushirou can feel the thumping of Gintoki’s heart in his chest and it’s almost a comfort to know that he’s not alone in his trepidation. Emboldened, he starts stepping backward, walking them the short distance to the bed until the backs of his knees hit the edge. They fall over each other in a heap when his legs buckle against the mattress. Gintoki uses the opportunity to slot himself between Toushirou’s legs, forcing them to open wide; his body is almost crushingly heavy on top of him, but far from unwelcome. Particularly not when hips press down on him in a lazy grind that lets Toushirou feel just how hard Gintoki is.
There’s an unstoppable heat igniting between them with each heavy thrust of their hips and one at a time it burns through the chains tethering Toushirou to reality. Their kiss grows in urgency, with each wet slide of their tongues. Even if it started out sweet, Toushirou knows in the back of his mind that they’re both sexually frustrated as hell having been cockblocked by his own stupid insecurity. It’s not long before Gintoki pulls away from the kiss, giving Toushirou’s tongue a parting suck. And, fuck, Toushirou wants that idiot mouth all over him.
While Gintoki busies himself giving lovebites in places that Toushirou is absolutely going to regret in the wake of his post-nut clarity, Toushirou disentangles a hand from Gintoki’s perm to reach down and cop a feel. His hand slides over the Yorozuya’s boxers, first groping the firm, rounded flesh of his ass and then creeping its way between them to palm his cock. The lack of skin contact is frustrating and he can’t help himself from digging his way under the waistband. Gintoki’s breath shudders beautifully when Toushirou closes his hand around his cock and gives it a squeeze. He knows that he can’t give a proper hand job like this without any lubrication, but it’s still a turn-on when Gintoki fucks into his hand a few times.
The bed frame creaks underneath them as Gintoki abruptly pushes off, forcing Toushirou’s hand to slip back out of his underwear.
“I’m gonna suck you off.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact; unless Toushirou objects, this is happening. And like hell is he going to object.
Toushirou sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread wide while Gintoki kneels below him on the floor. Like before, he starts by stuffing his face into Toushirou’s crotch, which Toushirou decides will never not be hot. There’s something about the idea of Gintoki wanting him so badly that he’s rubbing and pressing his face into him like he can’t fucking wait to get dick in his mouth that drives Toushirou nuts. Truthfully, he can’t wait either.
“...Fuck, Yorozuya. Please.” His voice comes out surprisingly raspy and if all his brain cells weren’t occupied with getting his dick wet, he’d be horrified that he just begged.
Thankfully, Gintoki didn’t need to be asked twice, because he’s sliding those stupid track pants down until they’re pooled around his ankles. He can’t stop the embarrassing cry that escapes him when Gintoki uses the flat of his tongue to lick the underside of the head. It seems like forever before Gintoki takes him fully into his mouth, preferring to slide his lips and tongue over the sides of Toushirou’s cock until it’s twitching and pulsing under his touch. But when he does, Toushirou feels like he’s going to melt. Both hands twist in the bedding below as he tries to get a grip on himself while Gintoki takes him down, working in tandem with his hand. Alternating between fast and slow, sucking at the tip and enthusiastic deep-throating. There’s really nothing else like it.
It’s probably just the arousal talking, but Toushirou’s dazed, oversexed mind starts to think that he’s never seen Gintoki happier than when he’s stuffed with his cock. And while that’s objectively not true, it’s easy for Toushirou to make-believe that it’s so when Gintoki is humming and moaning around him and jerking himself off down below.
Fuck, he loves it. He loves knowing that Gintoki loves this, too, and the thought sends fresh waves of heat and pleasure and avarice washing over Toushirou. He doesn’t want anyone else to see Gintoki like this. He doesn’t want anyone else to experience this. This is his. His alone.
Toushirou can feel himself getting close. It’s as if he’s being smothered in layer after layer of pleasure and pressure, all of it piling up inside him. There’s a whisper in the back of his head that wonders what it would be like to come on Gintoki’s face or in his mouth or inside him. Gintoki must be able to feel the tension because before Toushirou gets too far, he’s pulling off and squeezing the base of his cock between his thumb and forefinger.
“What do you think you’re doing, my little tax thief?” Gintoki’s voice is hoarse as he asks, wearing just a hint of a sadistic smile on his otherwise wrecked face. “Surely you didn’t think you were going to come already, right? After what you did? After the abuse you put me through? That you put little Gin-san Jr through? My kintama through?”
If Toushirou wasn’t so disoriented from the abrupt loss of sensation, he would question why Gintoki had so many nicknames for his junk. That aside, he knew that ruined orgasm stunt was going to come back to bite him in the ass and if a little edging is his punishment, he should be thankful that he’s getting off so easy. So, struggling to steady his labored breaths and organize his thoughts, he attempts a humble apology:
“Fuck! God, ‘m sorry—okay?? I’ll wait. Fuck.”
Okay, maybe he misses the mark by a hair, but Gintoki seems to accept it anyway and relinquishes the vice grip on his dick. “Fine, fine. But you know, you don’t have to call me God—I know I basically just blew you into a higher plane of existence just now, but Gintoki is fine.”
Toushirou has to hold back an annoyed groan and is only mildly successful. He needs this bastard to shut up so they can actually get off together sometime today.
“Stop being a fuckin’ dumbass, Yorozuya, and just tell me what you want,” he hates the sound of neediness that he can’t seem to keep out of his voice.
“I mean it, Gintoki is fine.”
Toushirou scrunches his brow in confusion, “That doesn’t make an—”
Gintoki cuts him off before he can finish, “I want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“My name.”
Just like that, the relative comfort and safety of blow jobs and bickering rips away from Toushirou as Gintoki tosses him heedlessly into the realm of intimacy and feelings. He can sense the pounding of his heart rachet up once more and he has to fight against himself to not freeze up again. He knows it’s over if he does, and there’s a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach at the thought of it ending. And it’s not the sex he’s dreading might end. It’s This. The capital ‘T,’ italicized This that stands in for whatever the fuck he and Gintoki have going on.
Even in the last few minutes, Toushirou feels like he’s yo-yoed between lust, irritation, and softer emotions he’d rather not name, but now it feels like panic is threatening to eclipse all of them. Especially when two hooded maroon eyes drill into him with more expectation, affection, and desire than Toushirou ever thought possible. But with great effort, he unclenches his jaw and speaks—because he said he would try. Because he couldn’t when it was Mitsuba looking at him this way and he’ll never, ever forgive himself for that.
“Okay, Gintoki.”
Gintoki takes a long meaningful pause, wearing the same soft smile Toushirou has only seen him make at the kids or the old lady, maintaining the protracted eye contact between them without fear and encouraging Toushirou to do the same. Soothing hands skate up and down Toushirou’s forearms, and he can’t remember a time in recent memory that he’s felt so cared for; like he’s the only other person in the world. It’s overwhelming and warm. Vast and suffocating. He feels like he’s going to die. He feels like he can almost take it in. He thinks if it’s like this, he might be able to. He’s terrified of what may happen if he can’t.
And then Gintoki opens his mouth.
“Now please make room on the bed, Toushirou, because I wanna fucking come with you already and I don’t care how.”
Toushirou would complain at Gintoki for ruining the moment if only he didn’t feel the exact same way. Because, holy shit, they’ve done at least four different sex acts today and neither of them has had even one proper orgasm. He’s ready, at least as much as he’ll ever be knowing that this isn’t just a spontaneous hook-up anymore. It’s intentional. It’s intimate. And though his feelings are complicated and confusing, Toushirou wants it. All of it.
Following the suggestion, Toushirou rolls over on the bed. His eyebrows jump in surprise when Gintoki climbs on top of him, straddling Toushirou between his powerful thighs. It looks like he’s going to take the lead this time. It’s fine; though he prefers it, Toushirou doesn’t need to be on top. The problem is that Toushirou isn’t prepared.
He tries to tell Gintoki as much, but he’s soon locked mouth-to-mouth in another kiss. When he squints open his eyes, he can see Gintoki searching blindly for a packet of complimentary lube lost somewhere in the bedsheets.
“Yoro—Gi… Gin,” he’s trying to get Gintoki’s attention in the tiny breaks in their kissing. He could pull away, but it feels too good to be close.
He gets his opportunity to speak when Gintoki breaks the kiss after finally finding the hidden lube packet. Gintoki is panting hard and fumbling to tear the thing open.
“Gintoki, hey!” Toushirou slaps at Gintoki’s legs, getting his attention, “I’m, uh… It’s not that I’m not into it, but I’m not prepared.”
“That’s fine,” Gintoki dismisses the concern, “you don’t need to be.”
“So, are we gonna switch, or?”
“No,” the answer is surprisingly firm, “I wanna do something else with you.” Toushirou watches with anticipation as Gintoki finally manages to open the packet and pours it into his open palm. “It’ll feel good.”
Twenty-four hours ago, Toushirou wouldn’t have believed him even if he said grass is green, the sky is blue, and they’re all characters in a series called Gintama. There are honestly still a lot of things that Gintoki might say that he wouldn’t believe, but Toushirou believes him right now. And when Gintoki takes both of their cocks in his hand and spreads the lube by stroking them together, he believes him completely.
Toushirou’s breath hitches when Gintoki bears down on him with his hips, pressing their lengths firmly together between them. The friction created is addictive and Toushirou feels like he could get lost in it forever when Gintoki ruts into him.
“Fuck, Toushirou, I wanna make you feel so good.”
He knows that non-penetrative sex is a thing, even that some men prefer it to anal, but it's not something he’s ever done as the main event. He’s certainly questioning that stance now, with every erotic grind and slide of Gintoki’s dick on his. It’s intimate in a way he didn’t imagine it would be, connected in a way that he hasn’t quite experienced before with anyone.
Both of his hands find their way under Gintoki’s jaw and he pulls him into a kiss. Toushirou is unable to withhold a moan when Gintoki’s tongue licks deep into his mouth, mingling with his own. There’s a warm feeling in his chest when he hears Gintoki making his own unrestrained, pleasured noises, nearly lost between their clasped lips.
Without noticing it, a shift has occurred in Toushirou when he hears Gintoki’s moans. Where earlier he felt driven by a frantic, compulsive need to forcefully extract as many as he could, these feel given to him—earned, honest. They still make Toushirou’s cock throb uncontrollably.
Soon enough, they find a sensual rhythm between their lips, tongue, and lower bodies. Hands are everywhere. Toushirou’s wander from Gintoki’s jaw, down his strong shoulders and back, then up again, always getting lost in silver curls. They weave and tangle inside Gintoki’s perm. He fights the urge to pull. Gintoki’s right hand, when it’s not busy keeping their cocks aligned between them, is drifting from Toushirou’s neck to his chest, from his arms to his flanks and back again.
Every part of Toushirou feels like it’s melting into the body on top of him, moving in time with the other in an unbroken line of skin-on-skin contact. Like they’re a single mass of burning hot, hedonistic energy as they thrust into each other.
Every atom of Toushirou is awash in ecstasy with each rock of their hips as Gintoki presses into his cock, rubbing out a hot line of pressure from base to tip. He’s achingly hard when Gintoki breaks their kiss and manhandles Toushirou up to a sitting position. He blinks open his eyes and finds Gintoki already staring into his from under his lashes, clouded with lust, pleasure, and adoration. It’s still alarming, but he knows the very same feelings are swelling inside of him. Instead of pulling away, he leans in.
They quickly arrange themselves lotus style, Gintoki still straddling Toushirou’s lap, jerking them off together. And fuck, the view is beautiful. Toushirou takes a moment to drag his gaze across Gintoki’s body and sees a man littered with scars, including the one he gave him during their first fight; flushed from the chest up; dripping with perspiration; and marked to hell from Toushirou’s jealous mouth. Looking at him this way sends a spike of pleasure directly to his dick and he can feel his mind fizzling into nothing.
Gintoki shocks him from his reverie with the deep quake of his voice as it shakes out from panting breaths.
“Fuck fuckfuckfuck, Toushirou—You’re so fuckin’ good. Gimme your hand,” Gintoki slurs out the praise and paws at one of Toushirou’s hands.
Of course, Toushirou gives it to him. And when he does, Gintoki positions it above his own, wrapping around their cocks, so they’re both pumping and fucking against each other into their combined grip. Toushirou has been close for a while and feels himself steadily tipping over the edge, but when Gintoki shoves his face into his neck and draws him in close with his free arm, he’s rocketed directly into the white-hot expanse of orgasm. If Gintoki’s name spills out of his lips, he can’t help it now. Everything is blank except for the euphoria that courses through him and the body embracing him. Gintoki must be coming too because somewhere outside the haze he’s bucking rapidly into their fists alongside a chorus of shits and fucks and Toushirou’s name.
When they come to, they’re collapsed side-by-side with thick, wet pixelation painting their fingers and stomachs. Toushirou is shocked beyond words when the man next to him steals his hand and sucks it off his fingers one by one, then smiles a soft smile that should be illegal after doing something so filthy.
It’s been hours now since Toushirou made the mistake of coming to the Kabuki District for his bogus rendezvous; so late that streetlights and neon signs have flickered to life to counteract the warm shadows slowly engulfing the faces of buildings and now-bustling city streets below. Toushirou takes a drag from his cigarette and watches the sun sink below the horizon as Gintoki pours him another cup of overpriced sake. They’re well into their second bottle, adding to the already exorbitant fees from overstaying their allotted rest period and Gintoki’s stress eating. He’s dreading the final bill, but Gintoki tells him not to worry, since Toushirou has his fat government salary and that “Gin-san is paying his share in taxes.”
He should be furious right now. But instead, he enjoys the warmth pooling in his gut as he downs his cup and takes the bottle to refill Gintoki’s.
The relaxed silence is broken by the sound of Gintoki clearing his throat.
“So, about that friend of yours. You think he really doesn’t like that rival of his?”
It takes Toushirou a moment to catch up to whatever Gintoki is saying, but when he does, a cloud of smoke expels from his lips in the form of an exasperated sigh.
“What do you think, dumbass?”
Gintoki is staring as if searching for something. There’s a slight creaking in his voice when he responds, “I think he should give him a chance.”
The sudden vulnerability gives Toushirou pause. “I think he already has–I think, he might have a thing for him after all.” Admitting his feelings is easier now, but it’s still difficult even in this roundabout way. Despite it all, he offers the words as sincerely as he can and he’s glad when he sees Gintoki’s face brighten a touch in return.
“Ah, so FruitsChinpoSamuraiG and FallenAngelSamurai were onto something after all, huh?”
Toushirou just scoffs and rolls his eyes, answering with his own question, “What about you, is your friend feeling any better?”
“Hm?” Gintoki takes a moment to consider and smiles, “Yeah, he’s feeling a lot better actually. You know, S was sure that he was going to get his heart broken, but it turned out M just needed a little time to come around.”
“Huh, is that so,” he’s finding it impossible to keep the playful lilt out of his voice and takes another draw from his cigarette.
There was a time before when he was convinced that Sakata Gintoki didn’t have a heart. That if he ever mentioned having such a thing, surely it must have been some twisted euphemism for his dick. That the only ones foolish enough to believe this scoundrel actually had one were those kids and his landlady—and even then it was only because they suffer from some kind of fucked up Stockholm Syndrome with him.
After today, he can’t say he believes that anymore. Now, he counts himself as one of the lucky few to have seen it and he certainly doesn’t want to be the one to break it. Or, who knows, perhaps Toushirou is just another one of Gintoki’s hostages.
Toushirou is lost in his daydream when a hand reaches out to pluck the cigarette from his lips. When he looks over he sees Gintoki, the stolen cigarette perched in his fingers, taking a long drag. His slightly reddened cheeks telegraph that he’s just a little bit tipsy. When he finally gives the cigarette back, there’s one of those stupid shit-eating grins on his face that used to drive Toushirou crazy in a bad way, but now his lips can’t help but quirk up at the corners. And, with an awful pit in his stomach, that’s when Toushirou knows for sure he could get used to This.