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Giyuu is a man who likes things in moderation. Simply put when he’s subjected to the extremes of something--taste, light, temperatures, noises--he isn’t going to enjoy himself.
Today, in particular, he knows that he is going to suffer, and suffer severely . It’s the peak of summer. The days are long, the sun is bright, and when it ends the air gets heavy with humidity and the noise of cicadas. He would much prefer to do away with this entire season if he can help it.
Unfortunately he isn’t a god or a demon who can change the elements on a whim. He is a mere demon slayer who has to follow orders. The latest one given to him by Oyakata-sama isn’t a pleasant one for plenty of reasons--
One, it’s the summer. We’ve already explained why he hates it.
Two, it’s a festival. With lots of people. We probably don’t need to explain why Giyuu dislikes such a setting, although Kochou surely has a lot of condescending things to say of that subject.
And three--
“What the hell are you wearing, dipshit?”
This guy.
Giyuu frowns at Shinazugawa Sanemi and at the noticeable contrast of their outfits. “I’m in my uniform,” he points out, after confirming the fact for himself. He wonders briefly if Shinazugawa’s eyesight is going.
The other man’s eyes undergo a concerning combination of twitching in offence and bulging out in rage. “I can see that you’re in your shitty uniform, Tomioka, I’m not fucking blind. What I don’t know is, why the fuck are you dressed like that?”
The two of them are in the town where a demon is said to be lurking and hunting children and outsiders. Based on the reports, they might be facing something strong with a lot of underlings--possibly even a Lower Moon. Oyakata-sama sent them there today specifically because the festival guarantees an influx of both. One wrong move and they might just see the festivities turn into a bloody feeding ground for demons.
So Giyuu answers, “We’re on a mission.” He regards Shinazugawa again with a frown. “Huh."
Shinazugawa isn’t in his Demon Slaying Corps uniform, with its trademark lack of buttons at the front. Instead he’s wearing a light green yukata with a dark green haori that does a similar job of obnoxiously displaying his scar-riddled chest and torso for the world to see.
Truth be told, seeing him dressed like a civilian is a little disorienting for Giyuu. Not that he didn’t recognize him in these clothes--there’s no way he won’t recognize his wild eyes and wild white hair, his rock-solid built, all those scars. Just that a Shinazugawa who looks like he’s actually going to do normal human things with normal people just seems… unreal.
“I don’t wanna know what the fuck you’re thinking,” the taller man quips, breaking Giyuu’s train of thought. Oh, was he staring at him that long? “You gotta be stupid if you think that those demons are gonna come out when you’re dressed at a fucking festival like you’re ready to kill something!”
While it’s true that his haori has an unusual design, he doesn’t think that it’s that odd. Although now that he mentions it, a number of passers-by are looking at him and his haori and his long-sleeved uniform and the sword at his hip with plain apprehension.
“Besides, you’re already sweating like a pig,” Shinazugawa says with a sneer of disgust. “If you collapse from the heat, don’t fucking expect me to help you.”
Even though the uniform is designed to be lightweight and durable, it definitely isn’t compatible with humidity, nor Giyuu’s constitution. So maybe he has a point.
An obvious problem, though: “I didn’t bring anything else.”
Shinazugawa slaps a scarred hand over his face. “Why am I stuck with this dumbfuck, Oyakata-sama. Look, just, come here--”
Luckily, the inn bearing a wisteria crest that they’re staying at is close by. Giyuu follows Shinazugawa to their quarters quietly. After a bit of rummaging and a lot of swearing under his breath, the other man chucks a folded yukata over to his direction. Giyuu catches it with his face before he does with his arms.
Giyuu frowns, especially when Shinazugawa chuckles like he meant to do it. Still, he says “Thank you.”
That instantly sours up the other man’s face, at least. “Hurry up and get dressed. It’s getting dark.”
Giyuu obliges. He pads across the room, puts his sword down, folds his trademark haori with the reverence it deserves. He hears Shinazugawa click his tongue somewhere behind him, but this isn’t new. He tends to make a lot of annoyed noises when Giyuu does ordinary things. He doesn’t know what he did to earn his ire, but Giyuu is hopeful that he’ll figure it out eventually.
He unbuttons his uniform top, the white shirt underneath, his pants. He instantly feels cooler and breathes easier the moment his bare skin is exposed to the air. He takes a few moments patting his skin free of sweat with cloth.
He had expected Shinazugawa to make another annoyed noise behind him, but instead he hears him hold his breath.
Weird.
Giyuu lets this pass because he’s busy with Shinazugawa’s spare yukata--it’s simply too big for him. He knows even though they’re almost the same height, they’re built differently, with Giyuu being on the leaner side. But he does not realize just how different their sizes are until he sees how the dark blue yukata shows off too much of his chest and stubbornly keeps letting his shoulder slip out of it. Well, at least it isn’t bad as it would have been if it had been Uzui or Himejima who lent him their clothes.
But in the end, Giyuu manages. He’s able to hide his sword at his back and to cover this with a different haori. Now he looks inconspicuous, and feels much cooler. He’ll figure out how to deal with excessive skin exposure.
Giyuu straightens himself out and tells Shinazugawa, “Sorry for the wait. I’m ready.”
“Took you long enough.” Shinazugawa’s face, for one reason or another, is bright pink. Must be more humid than he thought. “Anyway, let’s get going.”
The festivities are already underway by the time they make it to town. A quick look around confirms that no-one is dead or abducted yet. Another quick look around tells them that they aren’t standing out. A last one tells them that this mission isn’t going to be simple at all.
“There’s too many damn people here,” grumbles Shinazugawa. A dragon dance is starting in the middle of the street. All sorts of people in all sorts of blinding colors, in Japanese and Western attire, are crowding them at all sides. It’s hot, humid, stifling. The summer air and warm bodies press upon them.
Somebody pushes Giyuu from behind. It’s probably an accident. These things tend to happen in crowded places like this. He shouldn’t lose his composure, but he sure hates being in crowds.
“Oi, watch it!”
He falls like a plank right into the solid body next to him. Before he knows it, a strong arm is around him, keeping him still as he stares at the familiar criss-cross of scars up close.
Shit, Giyuu thinks, as he realizes that his nose is smack in the middle of Shinazugawa’s pecs.
He knows that if he looks up, he isn’t going to be comfortable with whatever disgusted expression the other guy has. He forces himself to do it though, just to get the apology and argument out of the way. And so they can focus on the important matter at hand, which is killing demons.
Well… he is looking at him with an expression, but nothing that Giyuu expects.
Shinazugawa is looking down at him, all over him. From his face, his eyes, down his exposed collarbone and chest, up to the point where both sides of the yukata meet somewhere just above the lines of his torso, the slivers of skin exposed by the loose cloth. For some reason, his face is as pink as it’s ever been, and at this distance Giyuu can feel the unbearable heat radiating from Shinazugawa’s skin.
This guy is overheating. Giyuu looks up at him in concern. “Thanks for catching me. But are you okay?”
“The fuck--you’re asking me?! You’re the clumsy shit who almost fell on his face!”
So, he must be okay, after all.
Giyuu sighs in relief and adjusts his displaced yukata as best as he can. It’s noisy, but people can still hear them, so he has to lean in closer to Shinazugawa to speak freely about the mission. “We should split up to find them. If they are going to attack, it’ll be soon.”
He does not miss the way Shinazugawa’s wide eyes widen even more when he fixes himself up. Giyuu’s worried--did he damage the other guy’s clothes this early on? Whatever it is that he’s staring at, it definitely isn’t top priority right now. If Shinazugawa tells him off for it--
“Got it,” Shinazugawa murmurs in his ear, the rasp of his voice rumbling from one bare chest to the other. Giyuu strains through a strange emotion to understand what he’s saying. “Stay here. I’ll go North. When those bastards show up--”
The sickening smell of Demon Blood Art fills their nostrils and halts his words.
They glance at each other in urgency. Without another word, they run through the crowd and into the alleyway where the scent of blood is strongest.
*
The battle doesn’t last long, but it lasts far longer than it should.
The demon isn’t a lower moon like they predicted, but a former one. Still strong, and with her own band of demon allies who fantasize about being demon moons themselves. They had a penchant for killing lost little kids and tourists, people who can realistically get lost in situations like this and never be found. Giyuu and Shinazugawa are able to defeat them, but not easily.
In the end, Shinazugawa bloodies himself and gets all the demons drunk. Giyuu bloodies himself and ruins Shinazugawa’s yukata.
Neither of them are dead when they get rid of the demon heads and give their report to the crow. As it flies off to the Ubuyashiki estate, both of them fall to the tatami mats of their room in exhaustion, haggard and smelling of iron.
“You look like shit,” Shinazugawa supplies, spitting blood from his mouth. His yukata is displaced and torn at a lot of places. More of his chest, with new fresh wounds, is exposed. He’s one to talk, Giyuu thinks in annoyance.
But then he looks at himself. Unfortunately, Shinazugawa is right. He’s not in the best state, either.
Worse, the yukata he borrowed looks bad, very bad. Obviously, these plain clothes are not as durable as their demon slayer uniforms and they don’t hold up in battle as well. There’s a gash at the front and at the sides and splashes of blood, human and demon, all over. His shoulder peeks out from a torn sleeve immodestly. No amount of adjusting will make him look less wrecked.
He sighs. He can tell that Shinazugawa isn’t going to let him hear the end of this. “Sorry. I’m going to fix this when we get back.”
Shinazugawa shifts from his place in the floor. “You know how to sew? Are you a wife?”
He isn’t anyone’s wife, but Giyuu knows how. He made his haori himself, after all. He just needs a needle and some thread. His hand is steady even after the fighting. Repairing Shinazugawa’s bloodied yukata won’t be a problem at all.
Scars, chest, a solid body. Suddenly that’s all he sees. When he looks up, Shinazugawa pins him down with that strange expression again--pink-faced, flushed with something other than summer heat, but confident. Purposeful.
Giyuu opens his mouth. “I can fix it--” he begins, but his words don’t come out right because Shinazugawa’s lips and tongue and breath crash and mingle with his own. When Giyuu gasps, his mouth is suddenly full of the taste of him and his heat and his marechi blood--rarer than rare, a sheer delicacy his tongue understands against its will.
At some point, his head falls on the tatami. The loose cloth around him loosens even more. Alarmed, Giyuu realizes that Shinazugawa is literally tearing the cloth into shreds.
He stops the large scarred hands with his own and looks at him in the eyes, shocked at the hunger he sees there. “Shinazugawa--you’re ruining your clothes,” he stammers, because he doesn’t know what else to say.
Shinazugawa stares at him incredulously before he clicks his tongue in frustration. “Idiot. I’m telling you that you look good like this, in my clothes. Unless you want me to stop?”
The other man lifts himself up a good distance away. There’s finally room for Giyuu to breathe some air into his lungs, to clear out the sudden fog in his brain.
He looks up at Shinazugawa’s eyes though, and the tension, and the smell of blood, and the shadows he casts over him. Giyuu, much to his surprise, suddenly feels that he’s too far away.
“I don’t want you to stop,” he mumbles, before he can stop himself.
There’s a second where Shinazugawa’s eyes look relieved , which is strange to Giyuu because when did he care enough to tell him he looked good? And to kiss him and touch him and… those other things? Didn’t Shinazugawa hate his guts?
A devilish smirk replaces all that far too quickly, making Giyuu’s heart skip a beat. “Good. Then don’t ruin this by opening your damn mouth.”
Giyuu tries his best, but it’s hard not to moan when Shinazugawa murmurs against his skin and takes a harsh bite at the side of his neck and practically devours him right there and then. One hand undoes his ponytail, letting his hair fall over his shoulder in waves, while the other sneaks underneath his clothes.
“Look at you, pretty boy,” Shinazugawa murmurs appreciatively against his skin. “You look like a doll.”
It’s not just Shinazugawa’s mouth that’s giving him problems--his hands are roaming everywhere Giyuu’s skin is hidden by the tatters of the yukata, which really isn’t much. He wonders why his sensations are suddenly so heightened; he’s sure it’s not just the roughened fingertips trailing and pressing on his skin, wreaking havoc with scratches and bruises along the way.
A sound Giyuu never thought he was capable of making escapes his throat, just as Shinazugawa curls his hands around his lower back to clamp onto his ass, and grinds down on him hard.
What was that? He thinks in mild panic, biting his lower lip. Shit, he can’t look at Shinazugawa in the eye after that, the guy’s going to have a field day mocking him--
“ Shit , Tomioka.” He hears the desperate undercurrent to Shinazugawa’s rumble as he keeps grinding their crotches together, over and over, not stopping until Giyuu makes that noise again. “The fuck are you doing to me, with your pretty face and pretty voice--”
Giyuu wants to say that he isn’t doing any of whatever he’s doing to Shinazugawa on purpose, but there isn’t much he can say, especially when he reaches out underneath Giyuu’s underwear. “Ahh--Shina--”
Shinazugawa’s eyes are possessive as he takes Giyuu’s cock and rubs the length of it. It shouldn’t feel this good--a hand is a hand, even though Shinazugawa’s is bigger and rougher--but it’s different, more electric when he does it versus when Giyuu does it out of necessity. He’s embarrassed of the gasp that comes out of his mouth and the way his back arches at the touch, and of the way his hands suddenly scramble over Shinazugawa’s own tattered yukata.
An insipid part of his mind thinks, as he shreds Shinazugawa’s clothes and gratefully drinks in the sight of his body, his scars, his hardness-- I have a lot of clothes to mend tomorrow.
But it’s worth it. He leans forward, desperately seeking skin against his. He reaches out for Shinazugawa’s cock, thick and hard as a rock, and gives his best effort at pumping sensually.
“F--” Shinazugawa curses, or at least tries to, because Giyuu reaches over to kiss him on his bloodied mouth. Heat pools at his stomach when their cocks make contact, even more so when Shinazugawa takes that large hand of his to pump both of them in tandem.
“Oh, that’s good,” Giyuu mumbles against his mouth. He gets a bite on his lower lip in return, sharp and painful, but not enough to knock him out of his haze. “Shinazugawa, I’m--”
“Yeah?” He chuckles, biting on his neck again. “You want to come like this, Tomioka?”
Half of him is begging for more, but that isn’t what Giyuu wants. “No… Inside--”
Shinazugawa stops, eyes wide and absolutely wild. “You want--”
“--You, inside me… my ass,” Giyuu mutters in embarrassment, when Shinazugawa continues to stare at him in shock. Maybe he wasn’t clear about what he wants, but--
Shinazugawa hovers above him again, more dangerous than Giyuu’s ever seen him before. “That so? You telling me what to do, Tomioka?”
He pins Giyuu’s wrists down on the tatami and the rest of his body with his. “No… I’m just telling you what I want,” he whispers weakly.
Shinazugawa rumbles as he peppers kisses on his mouth, his jaw, his neck, his collarbone. “And what the fuck do you want, again? Tell me--”
“I just told you,” Giyuu says, frustrated and ashamed that he is. “I want to come with you inside my ass-- ah-- ”
Shinazugawa had grazed his teeth on his nipple with a questioning grumble. “Just you? What about me, Tomioka?”
Giyuu whimpers as Shinazugawa suckles on one of his nipples and pumps his cock with his free hand. “I--I want you to come inside… to fill me up with your come--”
“ Holy fucking shit, ” Shinazugawa growls, the vibrations of his rough voice reverberating throughout Giyuu’s body. “Where’s the fucking oil--”
There’s a bottle of it somewhere next to some soap, towels, and clean clothes that the inn staff left for them for their baths, because they're both so filthy. And, getting filthier by the moment. Giyuu watches with some amusement as Shinazugawa scrambles for the bottle and knocks over the rest of the set in his haste.
He manages not to break anything. Shinazugawa covers his fingers in oil. In the lamplight, Giyuu sees how thick his fingers are. Not having anybody else to do this for him before, he wonders if he should be-
“Nervous, Tomioka?” Shinazugawa asks as he bends the other man’s thighs towards his torso. Oh, even his fingertips are larger than Giyuu’s, he feels the difference when he touches the rim and makes him whimper. “You’re the one who wants this, but you can change your mind.”
Despite that, Giyuu shakes his head. “No… I want this. I want y-- ahh…”
One finger makes it through the ring of muscle. It’s a shock, and it takes some time for Giyuu to relax, but it’s good. Shinazugawa’s finger inside him feels good.
“Fuck… you need to relax a bit more,” Shinazugawa mutters. “Yeah… that’s it. Good, Tomioka, good--”
The words seem to charge him up in a different way. So does the second finger that Shinazugawa pushes into him, curling into the sweet spot he can’t quite reach by himself. And the third finger, and Shinazugawa’s other hand wrapping around Giyuu’s cock. It isn’t long before Giyuu’s breathing harshly and whimpering, mind hazy, begging for Shinazugawa to do something, to do more.
He’s taking his sweet time, though. “Look at you--pretty and dirty and desperate,” Shinazugawa says with a sick satisfaction. “You want my cock inside you that bad?”
“Yes,” Giyuu says. He’s incapable of saying anything else. “Shinazugawa, please, fuck me already!”
Shinazugawa curses. Giyuu’s ashamed of the whine that comes out of his mouth when the fingers are pulled out of him, but he doesn’t whine for long because Shinazugawa’s working on rubbing oil onto his cock and lining him up against Giyuu’s entrance before he can say another word.
Giyuu holds his breath as he feels the tip of his cock against the rim pushing in, inch by excruciating inch, the sound of slick skin against skin positively filthy.
The feeling of being filled--of being full of Shinazugawa--is amazing . Giyuu takes a deep breath once Shinazugawa has buried himself up to the hilt. Shinazugawa needs a moment to regain his bearings too once he’s there.
But it’s not enough--Giyuu needs him to move. “Shinazu-- ahh! ”
Apparently, he didn’t need to be told even once. Before Giyuu can get a single word out he’s breathless and being pounded into the tatami by Shinazugawa’s thrust, the pace quick and almost cruel. The pleasure’s overwhelming too soon, Giyuu doesn’t have a lot of space in his head to think, to breathe--
“Tomioka, fuck, you’re so tight, your asshole is sucking my dick in, fuck this is too good.” He gasps when Shinazugawa bends over to bite into a mass of flesh on his shoulder and sucking at the skin there. “And here I thought you were frigid, fuck, I should have fucked you ages ago--”
Why would anybody think that? He’s almost offended. Giyuu has just as many needs as any other man. If Shinazugawa had figured it out earlier, could they have done this earlier too?
Ah, but now isn’t the time to complain about that, because Giyuu can only agree to Shinazugawa’s desperate babblings above him. Shit, this feels too good, they should fuck more, they should be fucking all the time. Shinazugawa’s dick feels good in Giyuu’s ass, and Giyuu’s brains melt everytime he rubs against that special spot inside him, everytime his wrist twists gripping his cock--
He’s coming before he can say anything--thick white ropes that spurt and stain his already dirtied torso and abdomen. It isn’t long before Shinazugawa’s groaning above him, rhythm erratic, filling him with warmth.
“Ahh,” Giyuu says uselessly. Since when has catching his breath been so difficult? Shinazugawa’s short of breath himself, gasping ragged breaths above him before pulling out of him. Giyuu feels his come spill out onto the tatami when he does.
Oh. They’re going to have to clean that up.
“Don’t think of stupid things right now,” Shinazugawa grumbles as he collapses next to him. “Not after I just fucked your brains out.”
“... I wasn’t.” His voice is still breathy when he rolls over to Shinazugawa’s side and looks him in the eye. “And… you did. So, thank you for that.”
Shinazugawa looks at him incredulously. “Of course you would say something so stupid after a good fuck, Tomioka. This is why I can’t stand you, you bastard.”
His voice doesn’t have the usual bite to it though. Giyuu’s pretty sure by this time that he isn’t hated--at least, not by Shinazugawa, not like he had feared before. “I know, Shinazugawa.”
Shinazugawa clicks his tongue.
“I think you should have fucked me ages ago, too.”
The other man chokes, and Giyuu allows himself a satisfied little smile when he gets up to finally clean himself up from the mess. He doesn’t really expect Shinazugawa to follow him out to the baths, but he doesn’t stop him when he does, either.
By daybreak, while tangled up in his arms that are heavy with sleep, Giyuu wonders if Shinazugawa notices that both their discarded yukatas are already wrecked beyond repair.