[Spared from soft affection he might have been, but even those few brief seconds of that warm, gentle reaction does not go unnoticed. That, too, is tucked away: if that's the Sanemi that appears when he's affectionately flustered, then it would be more than worth it to endure whatever schemes might result to cause such a reaction.
A war of attrition in the form of warm, loving affections, then. Imagine that.
For now, though, softness can be - is - replaced with sharpness. Encouraged by the way Sanemi's body reacts more than anything, those fluttering lashes, that shudder, the way his breath shallows... even the way he allows himself to project his eagerness outward, Tengen looks down on him, eye half shaded under his lashes, and... tests. He slides his hand over his skin slowly, lets his thumb drag all the way up that flushed throat from the hollow between his collarbones to just under his chin and further still, down his jaw. There's a very clear, very real threat in that moment to cut those shallow breaths entirely, and he's terribly curious to see how Sanemi will react to the threat.]
[ What a strange sensation, to feel so observed and find it enticing. More often than not, being the sole object of anyone's attention made Sanemi's skin crawl: he had shrugged off companionship for so long that it had started to feel as though he was ill-suited to it.
Maybe that is part of the reason why such a simple touch feels so singularly devastating. Or maybe it is how laden it is with intent. Unbidden, his body sees fit to rise beneath that traveling hand as if it is utterly desperate to retain any lingering vestige of contact. His throat flexes around a reflexive swallow the mere moment Tengen's palm grazes his neck, and the difficulty he faces with even that action thrills him.
He, reasonably, could have anticipated he'd enjoy such things, given his inclinations in combat. When faced with it in such a vulnerable space, though, the feeling it evokes is noticeably different. Charged. Tengen's hand fits easily around his throat and Sanemi's mouth flexes visibly when exhaling his next breath, as if the anticipation alone makes it hard to breathe. In many ways, it is.
He leans his head back, practically arching his neck into Tengen's palm. His mouth twists into a fleeting grin, all flashing teeth and giddiness. ]
Go ahead. [ He doesn't try a whit to hide the gravel in his voice. It's as much a challenge as it is permission. ]
[Flashy, flamboyant Tengen Uzui is no stranger to being the center of attention. That much isn't a secret. Perhaps, however, that lends itself well to the other side of the coin, to him putting someone else in a situation like this, where they're the sole object of his own attention, and to not let it feel oppressive.
Well. Not always, anyway.
The way Sanemi reacts to even the simplest touch sends a thrill down his own spine, prompts him to curl closer, to cage him in further. It's an invitation in its own way, should Sanemi choose to take it - with them pressed so close, there'd be nowhere he couldn't reach, should he decide to shift his own touch. And should he be content to stay as he is, not-quite pinned to the wall... well, that's enticing in its own way, too.
That grin is all the permission he needs, but the words prompt him to press a sharp, bite of a kiss to the corner of his mouth, first.]
This isn't the pain I was alluding to, but... if you insist~
[Let him wonder, as he reclaims his mouth in a more proper, deeper kiss at the same time as his hand closes tighter around Sanemi's throat, all but removing any chance he had at taking a final breath, first.]
[ As Tengen crowds him further against the wall of the shower, the sliver of rationality left in his cottony brain bemoans how public it is. His imagination briefly spins an ideal scenario where they were not cramped so close in a space so small, where he could snip and bite at Tengen to his heart's content. A wilder part of him revels in the thrill of it all. He almost doesn’t give a damn if they get caught, and they had hardly even begun.
Now that he has more or less been given unspoken permission, Sanemi is more than voraciously content to let his hands roam. Their proximity gives him little room to walk his fingers further down than Tengen's hips, so he makes up for the loss by kneading into the skin with a kind of starved eagerness. He’s only just slid his hands back round to the base of his spine when he earns that fanged little kiss.
Tengen is right about one thing: Sanemi's mind whirls at the hypothetical. It is distracting enough that he is caught shallow-breathed. This kiss would be more than enough to punch out a noise if it were not coupled with that hand curling tighter around his throat. The instant the oxygen peters out to a thimble's worth, arousal so vicious it makes him weak in the knees unfurls in Sanemi's stomach.
His fingers turn to claws, biting into the meat of Tengen's back. He bites into the kiss with a choked sound. Abruptly shameless, coaxed by the depravity of it – come on, being choked in a public shower? – he bears his weight down against Tengen's leg, chasing more. ]
[Just how public it is is absolutely part of the thrill. Sure, maybe in an ideal situation, they'd have a sprawling room all to themselves, where they could be as loud - or as quiet - as they pleased, where the scratches on Tengen's lower back could be easily matched by tatami-borne abrasions on Sanemi's shoulder blades.
But it's not an ideal situation. It's desperation left to fester finally boiling over. It's them claiming the closest thing to privacy they can get. It's choked sounds - from both of them, at this point - swallowed in sharp kisses.
As soon as Sanemi bears down against his thigh, Tengen hikes his leg higher, gives him what he's seeking and more, fully using his height to force him up onto his toes. Every choked sound, every drag of skin against skin or scrape of shoes against the floor drives his own arousal, and after several long moments that feel like they simultaneously pass in an instant and drag on for an age, he loosens his hold on Sanemi's throat, shifting his hold up to grip his jaw instead, if only to steal his breath away for a few more seconds by forcing him to remain in a deep, open-mouthed kiss.
When he breaks that, it's only just, letting heavy breaths mingle as he tugs off his eyepatch to be tossed aside with their shirts.]
Fuck, Sanemi...
[He can't say more lest they be caught. He won't say more lest the moment be ruined by soft affection. It's devastatingly hot how desperate he's let himself become, true, but... perhaps even moreso, how much trust he's put in him, too.
So. Expletives. Half-lidded stares through lashes. Just a spare moment to breathe.]
[ Their bodies have long been honed for combat, then sharpened further still for combat against demons. Even the precious emphasis on maintenance of breath and stamina cannot entirely subvert the effect of having Tengen's hand curled around his throat. He wouldn’t want it to.
Tengen's leg presses higher and Sanemi finds himself hitched upward, into a tense, trembling arc. He has remarkably little leverage like this, trapped between the grip on his neck and the unyielding line of that thigh, and the perceived helplessness hits him like a blistering brand. His body flushes with heat so incendiary he feels lightheaded; or maybe it is the lack of oxygen, pinned as he is between Tengen's mouth and his palm.
It feels incredible. His blood sings. He grabs at whatever he can reach with fervent, desperate fingers, uncaring of whether he is drawing blood. In the split second between when Tengen shifts his hand from Sanemi's throat to his jaw, a choked, thready moan scrapes out from his tense mouth. He practically melts into the kiss, mind buzzing.
It takes him what feels like an age to be able to force his eyes open when they part. He’s dragging in air so quickly that his chest shudders. When he blinks, dazedly, there’s moisture clinging to the corners of his eyes.
And through the haze, he sees the expression on Tengen's face, hears the note in his voice, and it curls more pleasure in his stomach than even the struggle had. He clumsily wets his lips, smiling openly in between panting breaths. ]
Liked – that. [ The honesty jumps out when he’s lightheaded, evidently. ] Y'sure that – wasn’t the type of pain you were – hinting at?
[It's that very emphasis on control in their training that allowed Tengen to trust himself with what amounted to putting Sanemi's life in his hand. He could trust he'd know when to back down, and could trust Sanemi would be able to throw him if he took a step too far.
In many ways, that made this exchange all the more heady and intoxicating - the acts were allowed, welcomed, wanted, even.
He's barely being touched and he feels like he could be picked apart at any moment, that thready little moan shooting through him like lightning and the way Sanemi looks after the kiss breaks... he can't resist kissing the corner of one of his eyes in some skewed way of brushing away the tears clinging to his lashes.]
I can tell- [Honesty is met with a tease, a shift forward to grind his thigh upwards once more to make his point for him.] And I'm sure.
[With his hand free - for the moment - he drags it down Sanemi's shoulder, down his arm, until he can catch his wrist and pull it from where he'd been scratching lines into his back to between them, trusting he'll take the encouragement for further exploration as he leans closer still to breathe into his ear, words quiet enough they wouldn't reach the curtains, let alone meet the ears of anyone outside.]
I was hinting it'd hurt if I fucked you.
[Considering there isn't much to work with - not at camp, not with the spontaneity with which they made this particular move forward. Somehow, he can't help but think Sanemi might find that a challenge worth taking.]
[ He's still buzzing. The whole of his body feels like a live wire, wild and electric and perfectly primed. It isn’t the sole reason that he mindlessly shifts his face to nuzzle into Tengen when he presses his lips to the corner of one watery eye, but it ranks high. It is also the reason Sanemi is nearly unable to quiet the furtive little noise he makes when Tengen's thigh presses upward. He has nowhere to go, levered up onto his toes as he is, forced to shudder his way through the sharp jolt of pleasure.
Not that he minds. He also doesn’t mind the wordless request to pick up where he had left off with his wandering hand. Sanemi's hand instinctively paws upward, smoothing momentarily as he traces almost wonderingly over well-honed muscle. He walks his fingers all the way up the back of Tengen's neck before, seized by some impulse, he almost tenderly tucks hair behind his ear.
The moment only lasts for a second. Sanemi's hand slides back downward, kneading with unspoken appreciation over the curve of Tengen's chest. Chest guys…
If he had been asked prior to finding himself crowded into this tiny space if the sound of a voice would’ve been enough to make his head spin, he would have scoffed. On paper, it sounded utterly fucking absurd. But the flush of heat that curls in his stomach when Tengen murmurs that in his ear is so hot it’s nearly painful. His hand squeezes reflexively. His entire body even pulses with it, hips writhing as he grinds against Tengen's leg, helplessly, one time.
His face is incandescently red. He nearly feels feverish from arousal, and even years of training can’t quite prevent his breath from escaping him in thrilled, shaky little pants. He tucks his face down and to the side, hiding in the curve of his shoulder. He has to worry at his own lip with his teeth for at least a few seconds before his voice works. ]
… I can take you. Easy.
[ Still trying to challenge even now? Sanemi Shinazugawa brat confirmed. ]
[Some part of him wonders if Sanemi could be brought over the edge like this, with careful touches and low-cast words in his ear, after watching how he reacts, how he shudders and squirms. Maybe one day he'll take the time to find out, will really pin him down and pick him apart with words, with promises and threats, will redefine what 'Sound Hashira' means. Today, though... Today, they're crowded into a shower stall. Today, they're forced to be quiet, for the most part.
Today, even Sanemi's exploratory touch makes his own breath hitch and leaves his skin aching for more.
And the way he tucks close, slips in soft affections, the way he hides his face before laying out his own challenge? It's cute. There's no other way to describe it but sweetly, endearingly cute.
He wants more of that, too. The shy, blushing Sanemi, yes, but also the brat all but begging to be put in his place.]
Easy? [So put him in his place he will. Starting by laughing at the assertion outright... but then sliding his thigh out from between Sanemi's legs, and watching closely, sharply, to how he'll react to the loss.] We'll see. Shorts off, Shinazugawa.
[ … the likelihood is higher than Sanemi would ever admit unless under extreme duress. It should be blatantly obvious, frankly, in the distracted way he maps out Tengen's body. Not that there is a lack of appreciation there – far from it. The depth and saturation of his blush is only intensified when he presses his palm into the meat of Tengen's pectoral, testing the give. There had always been a fascination for the man's body, tucked layers deep under spite and bristling. He never thought he would have the opportunity to act on it beyond stolen glances and sparring sessions.
Unfortunately, he finds himself rather distracted by Tengen's leg shifting out from underneath him. The loss is a vivid, aching thing. Sanemi's own thighs clench around nothing as he drops back down to flat feet. An almost petulant expression flits across his face. It's intensified by how his lip curls in blatant challenge when Tengen laughs at him.
Not like that was hot or anything. He swats his brain into submission by pulling his hand away from Tengen's chest. Emboldened by desire and running hot on his own audacity, he shoves both his thumbs past the waistband of those ridiculously tiny camp shorts.
… and turns his back before removing them. Sanemi might be a bristling, blushing mess, but he's at least aware of his own attractiveness. Bending over before peeling the shorts off feels like an obvious course of action; an obvious tease. Hell, he removes both layers in one confident fell swoop, discarding them carelessly into their growing pile of clothes.
Just don't look too closely at how excited he is. Or do – Sanemi isn't hiding. In fact, he even manages a cheeky, fanged little smirk. Talk about whiplash, this guy is on a confidence pendulum. ]
[Of course he would turn his back. It might have been an obvious course of action, sure, but it was also the cheeky, bratty course of action, and with Sanemi's confidence firmly on that side of his ever-swinging pendulum...
Well, Tengen can't be blamed for giving his ass a hard, open-palmed swat as soon as it's exposed, can he? Call it a punishment for being a brat. Call it a reward for listening so eagerly. Whatever it is, he's confident that he'll like it enough to be distracted from the brief lack of contact that ensues when Tengen pulls his own bottom layers off and, finally, flips on the water as just one more thing to mask any sounds.]
You tell me.
[He's all but inviting an exploratory look - or stare - especially in the face of that fanged little smirk, and the prospect of, maybe, wiping it off his face without any further action at all.
Not that he can keep his hand off Sanemi for very long, either - not that he wants to. With his back to him, it's all too easy to start at the back of his neck and run all the way down his back before settling on his hip, holding tight and more than ready to dip forward or back depending on his reaction.]
[ Sanemi likely doesn't have the wholly anticipated reaction.
The millisecond after Tengen's hand cracks against his ass, blooming heat and pain and wild desire outward from the point of impact, Sanemi laughs. Laughs openly, giddily, and excitedly. A shudder wracks the whole of his body as he arches forward, pressing his forehead up against the shower as if it might feasibly ground him. There's unfettered adrenaline pumping through his veins. He feels as though he may very well burn up. It is part of the reason why he doesn't flinch when the water sprays down onto them.
And, yeah, he looks when Tengen prompts him to. He's been flushed for what feels like ages now, but it still finds a way to deepen. Hell, his mouth practically goes dry. He can't recall the last time he'd been hungry for anything other than violence. He can't recall the last time it felt this good.
He practically shoves back into that hand, hanging his head to flash his vulnerable, reddened nape. He follows through with the motion to grind back against Tengen, bold and eager about it.
Being actually touched might prove a problem given how keyed up he is but, at the moment, that hardly matters. He wants this. He's practically baring his teeth for it. ]
[Usually, Sanemi laughing is something that brings with it a flurry of activity, excitement, violence... and Tengen can't honestly say it won't this time, too. Not with the thrill that races down his spine at the sound, anyway.
That deepening flush, though... in some ways it makes him want to spoil him, brattiness be damned. Unfortunately, that doesn't necessarily mean giving him everything he wants - at least not in the ways his lust-drunk head is telling him, anyway. But that doesn't mean he gives him nothing - far from it.]
Eager?
[Obviously.
He doesn't give Sanemi a chance to answer before his hand slides down and back, over the curve of his ass and further, while he practically drapes over him, letting him feel weight and heat and then, abruptly, pain as Tengen bites hard into the nape of his neck. It was bared so temptingly for him, after all...
Without giving a breath of a chance to recover from the bite, he also proceeds to work two fingers up into him - it's more than he ought to, perhaps, but he moves slowly to temper the pain, and figures Sanemi might appreciate it besides.]
[ It's likely a good thing he doesn't quite get the chance to snip back. He wouldn't have said anything productive. He would've snapped his teeth and made a token effort to conceal the fact that he's practically aching for this, has been. He hasn't been able to get that moment in the woods out of his mind. Hell, even narrowing his desire down to that moment in particular felt insufficient. Sanemi has been hungry for a long time.
It's partly why it feels so dizzyingly gratifying to finally have it within his grasp. The excitement that thrills deep within is set to burst the moment that hand begins to travel further. In fact, he nearly sighs in goddamn relief when Tengen presses his body against him, shuddering at the feeling of being utterly blanketed in body heat beneath the running water.
When Tengen sets his teeth upon Sanemi's neck, he initially reacts how a cornered animal might: with wild, bristling surprise. The primal pain in such a sensitive area evokes such a warring reaction that he's left nearly gaping in the wake of it. It is only natural, then, that he makes an open-mouthed noise when those two fingers work into him.
It shudders out of him as a moan, loud at first until he muffles it into the meat of his forearm. It throbs, it's uncomfortable, and he can feel his pulse thudding where Tengen's teeth had latched into him, and he doesn't think he's ever felt so turned on in his goddamn life. (Not that he'd had much of a chance to contemplate it). ]
H-holy shit. [ He arches his back like the greedy shit he is, completely trying to push past the steady pace Tengen is vying for. More of that immediately, please. ]
[Narrowing mutual desire down to that one moment was woefully insufficient. If anything, that moment simply opened the door to something that was already there, signaled - mutually - that there was, had been, desire under the surface, and with confirmation of it being returned... Well. That's obviously how they ended up here, isn't it?
And then there's that reaction, feral and needy, and Tengen nearly gives Sanemi exactly what he's asking for - a broken pace, more, too much too quickly. But he doesn't. He takes a breath, shifts to bite a little harder at a subtly different place on his nape and... actually slows his pace a bit.
So maybe he's encouraging the brattiness. So what?
But slowing just a shade does allow him to both work his fingers deeper, steadily, and focus on basking in every one of Sanemi's reactions, in how they all make desire pool hot in his own core, in how he, too, wants more. And, notably, it allows him to search, briefly, until he can hook his fingers just right to curl against his prostate. The angle is wrong to rub gently, but, well, something tells him Sanemi might just appreciate the intense pain-pleasure that grinding his knuckles into the spot will provide - and he's all too happy to provide.]
[ Though he is still wildly, needlessly confident that he could have taken Tengen entirely without this unnecessary preparation, he cannot help but admit to himself that Tengen's fingers were thick.
Having two of them pressed inside him without warning, no matter how slow, had very nearly turned him upside down. It’s unlike anything he had ever tried before, especially alone: his own fingers had always felt too rough, too rigid, too – predictable. He always knew his own next move.
But he can’t predict Tengen. It is, quite possibly, one of the better parts of this, and there were many. Tengen bites him again, harder, slightly askew from the previous one, and the primal feeling of being marked in such a sensitive area is nearly so arousing he could moan for it. It very nearly makes up for the fact that Tengen then slows down.
Nearly. Sanemi growls in protest almost immediately.
He’s in the middle of trying to shove his hips backward again when those fingers curl inside him and –. He very nearly collapses. The sensation of knuckles pressing up against something devastatingly sensitive hits him like a hammer. Heat blooms from every point of contact like a brand. Sanemi shudders and keeps right on shuddering, mouth working against his forearm until he’s dappled himself with grazed bite marks.
It isn’t nearly enough to silence him entirely. He might’ve partially forgotten they were in public. Soft little huffs of sound billow against his slick skin, tense with something between surprise and desire. ]
Fuck – f-fuck, fuck, fuck. [ And then the brat switch turns back on. Obviously. At least he hisses it. ] That’s – really all you’ve got? C'mon.
[There it is - not only does Sanemi nearly crumble outright, but he growls in protest, an intoxicating dichotomy that Tengen fully intends to draw out more of... and one that prompts him to let go of the bite to laugh low against Sanemi's skin.
And none too soon, either, with how he nearly collapses, how he shudders, how he bites his own markings into his arm... and issues a challenge. Of course he does. When he's barely keeping himself together. And so, Tengen gives in... and he doesn't. He works his fingers in him in slow, even strokes, making certain to drag hard over that spot that nearly caused him to crumble at every chance he gets, spreading and scissoring and, eventually, working a third finger in with the first two.
But he doesn't quicken his pace, doesn't let Sanemi's impatience turn contagious.]
You couldn't handle everything I've got.
[Maybe he could. Maybe low words in his ear, a promise of more than he could ever possibly imagine, followed by a tongue dragging down his spine, chasing a heated drip of water, were simply meant to pick him apart further.
He even nips Sanemi's hip hard enough that a bruise immediately blooms on pale skin before pressing kisses back up his back.]
[ He's going to walk – maybe – out of this shower looking like he's been mauled, and Tengen is only partially to blame. Being as wild in bed as he is outside of it comes surprisingly naturally, if only to off-set how thoroughly fucked he's realizing he is. Clinging to his attitude with grit teeth is truly the only thing keeping him from falling apart at the seams.
A part of him is hysterically thankful that he'd chosen to put his back to Tengen. Hiding his face feels like the final vestige of maintaining his dignity. He cannot possibly imagine what expression crosses his face every time Tengen's fingers press into him, bordering on the edge of too-much just enough to make him weak in the knees.
Was he pathetic for being this disarmed by prep-work? A vicious part of him wants to rebel, even as he exhales a faltering sigh at the introduction of a third finger. Fuck, that's a lot. And of course, of course, the bastard couples it with murmuring in Sanemi's ear. He's going to need to start wearing fucking earplugs if he wants to survive the next week following this little roll in the sheets.
Whatever snarling quip flies to the tip of his tongue peters out with a – relatively high-pitched noise of surprise, all things considered, at the feeling of Tengen's tongue tracing down his spine. Sanemi flushes so scorchingly hot that the bruising bite to his hip feels like a brand. A fierce impulse to kick out flashes through his mind so powerfully that he genuinely considers it.
And then he does it. Obviously. He kicks Tengen in the shin. ]
Fuck – you. Like hell – I couldn't. 's like I said before – you're all fucking talk.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
For nemi specifically right now, tbh-
A war of attrition in the form of warm, loving affections, then. Imagine that.
For now, though, softness can be - is - replaced with sharpness. Encouraged by the way Sanemi's body reacts more than anything, those fluttering lashes, that shudder, the way his breath shallows... even the way he allows himself to project his eagerness outward, Tengen looks down on him, eye half shaded under his lashes, and... tests. He slides his hand over his skin slowly, lets his thumb drag all the way up that flushed throat from the hollow between his collarbones to just under his chin and further still, down his jaw. There's a very clear, very real threat in that moment to cut those shallow breaths entirely, and he's terribly curious to see how Sanemi will react to the threat.]
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Maybe that is part of the reason why such a simple touch feels so singularly devastating. Or maybe it is how laden it is with intent. Unbidden, his body sees fit to rise beneath that traveling hand as if it is utterly desperate to retain any lingering vestige of contact. His throat flexes around a reflexive swallow the mere moment Tengen's palm grazes his neck, and the difficulty he faces with even that action thrills him.
He, reasonably, could have anticipated he'd enjoy such things, given his inclinations in combat. When faced with it in such a vulnerable space, though, the feeling it evokes is noticeably different. Charged. Tengen's hand fits easily around his throat and Sanemi's mouth flexes visibly when exhaling his next breath, as if the anticipation alone makes it hard to breathe. In many ways, it is.
He leans his head back, practically arching his neck into Tengen's palm. His mouth twists into a fleeting grin, all flashing teeth and giddiness. ]
Go ahead. [ He doesn't try a whit to hide the gravel in his voice. It's as much a challenge as it is permission. ]
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Well. Not always, anyway.
The way Sanemi reacts to even the simplest touch sends a thrill down his own spine, prompts him to curl closer, to cage him in further. It's an invitation in its own way, should Sanemi choose to take it - with them pressed so close, there'd be nowhere he couldn't reach, should he decide to shift his own touch. And should he be content to stay as he is, not-quite pinned to the wall... well, that's enticing in its own way, too.
That grin is all the permission he needs, but the words prompt him to press a sharp, bite of a kiss to the corner of his mouth, first.]
This isn't the pain I was alluding to, but... if you insist~
[Let him wonder, as he reclaims his mouth in a more proper, deeper kiss at the same time as his hand closes tighter around Sanemi's throat, all but removing any chance he had at taking a final breath, first.]
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Now that he has more or less been given unspoken permission, Sanemi is more than voraciously content to let his hands roam. Their proximity gives him little room to walk his fingers further down than Tengen's hips, so he makes up for the loss by kneading into the skin with a kind of starved eagerness. He’s only just slid his hands back round to the base of his spine when he earns that fanged little kiss.
Tengen is right about one thing: Sanemi's mind whirls at the hypothetical. It is distracting enough that he is caught shallow-breathed. This kiss would be more than enough to punch out a noise if it were not coupled with that hand curling tighter around his throat. The instant the oxygen peters out to a thimble's worth, arousal so vicious it makes him weak in the knees unfurls in Sanemi's stomach.
His fingers turn to claws, biting into the meat of Tengen's back. He bites into the kiss with a choked sound. Abruptly shameless, coaxed by the depravity of it – come on, being choked in a public shower? – he bears his weight down against Tengen's leg, chasing more. ]
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But it's not an ideal situation. It's desperation left to fester finally boiling over. It's them claiming the closest thing to privacy they can get. It's choked sounds - from both of them, at this point - swallowed in sharp kisses.
As soon as Sanemi bears down against his thigh, Tengen hikes his leg higher, gives him what he's seeking and more, fully using his height to force him up onto his toes. Every choked sound, every drag of skin against skin or scrape of shoes against the floor drives his own arousal, and after several long moments that feel like they simultaneously pass in an instant and drag on for an age, he loosens his hold on Sanemi's throat, shifting his hold up to grip his jaw instead, if only to steal his breath away for a few more seconds by forcing him to remain in a deep, open-mouthed kiss.
When he breaks that, it's only just, letting heavy breaths mingle as he tugs off his eyepatch to be tossed aside with their shirts.]
Fuck, Sanemi...
[He can't say more lest they be caught. He won't say more lest the moment be ruined by soft affection. It's devastatingly hot how desperate he's let himself become, true, but... perhaps even moreso, how much trust he's put in him, too.
So. Expletives. Half-lidded stares through lashes. Just a spare moment to breathe.]
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Tengen's leg presses higher and Sanemi finds himself hitched upward, into a tense, trembling arc. He has remarkably little leverage like this, trapped between the grip on his neck and the unyielding line of that thigh, and the perceived helplessness hits him like a blistering brand. His body flushes with heat so incendiary he feels lightheaded; or maybe it is the lack of oxygen, pinned as he is between Tengen's mouth and his palm.
It feels incredible. His blood sings. He grabs at whatever he can reach with fervent, desperate fingers, uncaring of whether he is drawing blood. In the split second between when Tengen shifts his hand from Sanemi's throat to his jaw, a choked, thready moan scrapes out from his tense mouth. He practically melts into the kiss, mind buzzing.
It takes him what feels like an age to be able to force his eyes open when they part. He’s dragging in air so quickly that his chest shudders. When he blinks, dazedly, there’s moisture clinging to the corners of his eyes.
And through the haze, he sees the expression on Tengen's face, hears the note in his voice, and it curls more pleasure in his stomach than even the struggle had. He clumsily wets his lips, smiling openly in between panting breaths. ]
Liked – that. [ The honesty jumps out when he’s lightheaded, evidently. ] Y'sure that – wasn’t the type of pain you were – hinting at?
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In many ways, that made this exchange all the more heady and intoxicating - the acts were allowed, welcomed, wanted, even.
He's barely being touched and he feels like he could be picked apart at any moment, that thready little moan shooting through him like lightning and the way Sanemi looks after the kiss breaks... he can't resist kissing the corner of one of his eyes in some skewed way of brushing away the tears clinging to his lashes.]
I can tell- [Honesty is met with a tease, a shift forward to grind his thigh upwards once more to make his point for him.] And I'm sure.
[With his hand free - for the moment - he drags it down Sanemi's shoulder, down his arm, until he can catch his wrist and pull it from where he'd been scratching lines into his back to between them, trusting he'll take the encouragement for further exploration as he leans closer still to breathe into his ear, words quiet enough they wouldn't reach the curtains, let alone meet the ears of anyone outside.]
I was hinting it'd hurt if I fucked you.
[Considering there isn't much to work with - not at camp, not with the spontaneity with which they made this particular move forward. Somehow, he can't help but think Sanemi might find that a challenge worth taking.]
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Not that he minds. He also doesn’t mind the wordless request to pick up where he had left off with his wandering hand. Sanemi's hand instinctively paws upward, smoothing momentarily as he traces almost wonderingly over well-honed muscle. He walks his fingers all the way up the back of Tengen's neck before, seized by some impulse, he almost tenderly tucks hair behind his ear.
The moment only lasts for a second. Sanemi's hand slides back downward, kneading with unspoken appreciation over the curve of Tengen's chest. Chest guys…
If he had been asked prior to finding himself crowded into this tiny space if the sound of a voice would’ve been enough to make his head spin, he would have scoffed. On paper, it sounded utterly fucking absurd. But the flush of heat that curls in his stomach when Tengen murmurs that in his ear is so hot it’s nearly painful. His hand squeezes reflexively. His entire body even pulses with it, hips writhing as he grinds against Tengen's leg, helplessly, one time.
His face is incandescently red. He nearly feels feverish from arousal, and even years of training can’t quite prevent his breath from escaping him in thrilled, shaky little pants. He tucks his face down and to the side, hiding in the curve of his shoulder. He has to worry at his own lip with his teeth for at least a few seconds before his voice works. ]
… I can take you. Easy.
[ Still trying to challenge even now? Sanemi Shinazugawa brat confirmed. ]
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Today, even Sanemi's exploratory touch makes his own breath hitch and leaves his skin aching for more.
And the way he tucks close, slips in soft affections, the way he hides his face before laying out his own challenge? It's cute. There's no other way to describe it but sweetly, endearingly cute.
He wants more of that, too. The shy, blushing Sanemi, yes, but also the brat all but begging to be put in his place.]
Easy? [So put him in his place he will. Starting by laughing at the assertion outright... but then sliding his thigh out from between Sanemi's legs, and watching closely, sharply, to how he'll react to the loss.] We'll see. Shorts off, Shinazugawa.
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Unfortunately, he finds himself rather distracted by Tengen's leg shifting out from underneath him. The loss is a vivid, aching thing. Sanemi's own thighs clench around nothing as he drops back down to flat feet. An almost petulant expression flits across his face. It's intensified by how his lip curls in blatant challenge when Tengen laughs at him.
Not like that was hot or anything.He swats his brain into submission by pulling his hand away from Tengen's chest. Emboldened by desire and running hot on his own audacity, he shoves both his thumbs past the waistband of those ridiculously tiny camp shorts.… and turns his back before removing them. Sanemi might be a bristling, blushing mess, but he's at least aware of his own attractiveness. Bending over before peeling the shorts off feels like an obvious course of action; an obvious tease. Hell, he removes both layers in one confident fell swoop, discarding them carelessly into their growing pile of clothes.
Just don't look too closely at how excited he is. Or do – Sanemi isn't hiding. In fact, he even manages a cheeky, fanged little smirk. Talk about whiplash, this guy is on a confidence pendulum. ]
There. Happy?
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Well, Tengen can't be blamed for giving his ass a hard, open-palmed swat as soon as it's exposed, can he? Call it a punishment for being a brat. Call it a reward for listening so eagerly. Whatever it is, he's confident that he'll like it enough to be distracted from the brief lack of contact that ensues when Tengen pulls his own bottom layers off and, finally, flips on the water as just one more thing to mask any sounds.]
You tell me.
[He's all but inviting an exploratory look - or stare - especially in the face of that fanged little smirk, and the prospect of, maybe, wiping it off his face without any further action at all.
Not that he can keep his hand off Sanemi for very long, either - not that he wants to. With his back to him, it's all too easy to start at the back of his neck and run all the way down his back before settling on his hip, holding tight and more than ready to dip forward or back depending on his reaction.]
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The millisecond after Tengen's hand cracks against his ass, blooming heat and pain and wild desire outward from the point of impact, Sanemi laughs. Laughs openly, giddily, and excitedly. A shudder wracks the whole of his body as he arches forward, pressing his forehead up against the shower as if it might feasibly ground him. There's unfettered adrenaline pumping through his veins. He feels as though he may very well burn up. It is part of the reason why he doesn't flinch when the water sprays down onto them.
And, yeah, he looks when Tengen prompts him to. He's been flushed for what feels like ages now, but it still finds a way to deepen. Hell, his mouth practically goes dry. He can't recall the last time he'd been hungry for anything other than violence. He can't recall the last time it felt this good.
He practically shoves back into that hand, hanging his head to flash his vulnerable, reddened nape. He follows through with the motion to grind back against Tengen, bold and eager about it.
Being actually touched might prove a problem given how keyed up he is but, at the moment, that hardly matters. He wants this. He's practically baring his teeth for it. ]
C'mon.
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That deepening flush, though... in some ways it makes him want to spoil him, brattiness be damned. Unfortunately, that doesn't necessarily mean giving him everything he wants - at least not in the ways his lust-drunk head is telling him, anyway. But that doesn't mean he gives him nothing - far from it.]
Eager?
[Obviously.
He doesn't give Sanemi a chance to answer before his hand slides down and back, over the curve of his ass and further, while he practically drapes over him, letting him feel weight and heat and then, abruptly, pain as Tengen bites hard into the nape of his neck. It was bared so temptingly for him, after all...
Without giving a breath of a chance to recover from the bite, he also proceeds to work two fingers up into him - it's more than he ought to, perhaps, but he moves slowly to temper the pain, and figures Sanemi might appreciate it besides.]
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It's partly why it feels so dizzyingly gratifying to finally have it within his grasp. The excitement that thrills deep within is set to burst the moment that hand begins to travel further. In fact, he nearly sighs in goddamn relief when Tengen presses his body against him, shuddering at the feeling of being utterly blanketed in body heat beneath the running water.
When Tengen sets his teeth upon Sanemi's neck, he initially reacts how a cornered animal might: with wild, bristling surprise. The primal pain in such a sensitive area evokes such a warring reaction that he's left nearly gaping in the wake of it. It is only natural, then, that he makes an open-mouthed noise when those two fingers work into him.
It shudders out of him as a moan, loud at first until he muffles it into the meat of his forearm. It throbs, it's uncomfortable, and he can feel his pulse thudding where Tengen's teeth had latched into him, and he doesn't think he's ever felt so turned on in his goddamn life. (Not that he'd had much of a chance to contemplate it). ]
H-holy shit. [ He arches his back like the greedy shit he is, completely trying to push past the steady pace Tengen is vying for. More of that immediately, please. ]
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And then there's that reaction, feral and needy, and Tengen nearly gives Sanemi exactly what he's asking for - a broken pace, more, too much too quickly. But he doesn't. He takes a breath, shifts to bite a little harder at a subtly different place on his nape and... actually slows his pace a bit.
So maybe he's encouraging the brattiness. So what?
But slowing just a shade does allow him to both work his fingers deeper, steadily, and focus on basking in every one of Sanemi's reactions, in how they all make desire pool hot in his own core, in how he, too, wants more. And, notably, it allows him to search, briefly, until he can hook his fingers just right to curl against his prostate. The angle is wrong to rub gently, but, well, something tells him Sanemi might just appreciate the intense pain-pleasure that grinding his knuckles into the spot will provide - and he's all too happy to provide.]
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Having two of them pressed inside him without warning, no matter how slow, had very nearly turned him upside down. It’s unlike anything he had ever tried before, especially alone: his own fingers had always felt too rough, too rigid, too – predictable. He always knew his own next move.
But he can’t predict Tengen. It is, quite possibly, one of the better parts of this, and there were many. Tengen bites him again, harder, slightly askew from the previous one, and the primal feeling of being marked in such a sensitive area is nearly so arousing he could moan for it. It very nearly makes up for the fact that Tengen then slows down.
Nearly. Sanemi growls in protest almost immediately.
He’s in the middle of trying to shove his hips backward again when those fingers curl inside him and –. He very nearly collapses. The sensation of knuckles pressing up against something devastatingly sensitive hits him like a hammer. Heat blooms from every point of contact like a brand. Sanemi shudders and keeps right on shuddering, mouth working against his forearm until he’s dappled himself with grazed bite marks.
It isn’t nearly enough to silence him entirely. He might’ve partially forgotten they were in public. Soft little huffs of sound billow against his slick skin, tense with something between surprise and desire. ]
Fuck – f-fuck, fuck, fuck. [ And then the brat switch turns back on. Obviously. At least he hisses it. ] That’s – really all you’ve got? C'mon.
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And none too soon, either, with how he nearly collapses, how he shudders, how he bites his own markings into his arm... and issues a challenge. Of course he does. When he's barely keeping himself together. And so, Tengen gives in... and he doesn't. He works his fingers in him in slow, even strokes, making certain to drag hard over that spot that nearly caused him to crumble at every chance he gets, spreading and scissoring and, eventually, working a third finger in with the first two.
But he doesn't quicken his pace, doesn't let Sanemi's impatience turn contagious.]
You couldn't handle everything I've got.
[Maybe he could. Maybe low words in his ear, a promise of more than he could ever possibly imagine, followed by a tongue dragging down his spine, chasing a heated drip of water, were simply meant to pick him apart further.
He even nips Sanemi's hip hard enough that a bruise immediately blooms on pale skin before pressing kisses back up his back.]
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A part of him is hysterically thankful that he'd chosen to put his back to Tengen. Hiding his face feels like the final vestige of maintaining his dignity. He cannot possibly imagine what expression crosses his face every time Tengen's fingers press into him, bordering on the edge of too-much just enough to make him weak in the knees.
Was he pathetic for being this disarmed by prep-work? A vicious part of him wants to rebel, even as he exhales a faltering sigh at the introduction of a third finger. Fuck, that's a lot. And of course, of course, the bastard couples it with murmuring in Sanemi's ear. He's going to need to start wearing fucking earplugs if he wants to survive the next week following this little roll in the sheets.
Whatever snarling quip flies to the tip of his tongue peters out with a – relatively high-pitched noise of surprise, all things considered, at the feeling of Tengen's tongue tracing down his spine. Sanemi flushes so scorchingly hot that the bruising bite to his hip feels like a brand. A fierce impulse to kick out flashes through his mind so powerfully that he genuinely considers it.
And then he does it. Obviously. He kicks Tengen in the shin. ]
Fuck – you. Like hell – I couldn't. 's like I said before – you're all fucking talk.