Work Text:
Uruha shivered when they climbed out of the cab at the bottom of the hill. It was snowing, and they would have to walk the rest of the way. He pulled his cloak tightly about himself and watched from under the brim of his wide hat as Fushimi hefted their big backpack – singular – out of the trunk and shouldered it. He paid the driver and turned to Uruha with a grin.
“Pretty, right?” he said.
Uruha grunted. It would be prettier to look out from inside. He held out a hand, offering to take the backpack, but Fushimi just took hold of it instead and strolled on up the path, kicking his way through the snow. Uruha let him pull him along, worried that his boots wouldn’t be able to keep out the wet. It would take them ten minutes to walk up to the cabin, the cab driver had said.
The cabin.
Fushimi squeezed Uruha’s mittened hand with his own and Uruha squeezed back. There was a reason that they’d picked this place – a cabin in the mountains in the middle of winter – over anywhere else for their vacation. If Uruha could have picked anywhere it would have been the beach, so he could lie back in the shade of an umbrella and watch Fushimi splash in the sea, the drops of water sitting on his skin like diamonds and the sun catching in his hair like gold. That would have been perfect, and that was the kind of vacation they’d talked about back when they were at Kokugoku Fortress, planning all the adventures they would have when they got out.
But when they’d been flipping through leaflets and trying to pick where to go, Fushimi had hesitated when Uruha had picked out the one with the picture of beautiful white sands and a glimmering jade sea. It took him a moment to understand, but when he did he tossed it aside and said that they didn’t have enough time to enjoy it properly anyway, so a beach trip could wait. For just a weekend they should do something closer to home, he’d said. Fushimi had breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.
They’d turned their focus to places they could enjoy in the winter, and Uruha had passed over a wonderful looking onsen, where hot springs steamed away in the snow. He shivered again now thinking of it, and how nice it would have been to slip from the cold into the bubbling hot water, but just like the beach, it would have to wait.
It was more than just the fact that they only had a couple of days, what with Fushimi working for the Kamunabi again and Uruha busy with the dojo. That was just an excuse; they could have made it work.
No, the real reason was that it was still too soon.
It had only been a couple of months since Kokugoku Fortress fell. Only a couple of months since a Kamunabi cleanup crew were sent to a train station to clear out the bodies, and instead found four men barely clinging to life. They’d spent the rest of the battle with the Hishaku stuck in hospital, and it was only when the Enchanted Blades had been destroyed and the second Malediction thwarted that Uruha even learned Fushimi was still alive.
Uruha had insisted that he come and stay with him while he recovered. His own injuries had been healed by Samura, and he thought it was only right that he take care of Fushimi just as Fushimi had taken care of him in his grief three years ago. He’d said this to him between bouts of sobbing, unable to believe that he’d really survived and they really could have the future they’d talked about at Kokugoku Fortress.
But that was only a few weeks ago, and the Hishaku had left their mark on Fushimi. Hiruhiko’s paper sorcery had shredded his skin, leaving his torso and stomach crisscrossed with dozens of tiny cuts. They’d healed to scars now, silvery pale against Fushimi’s tanned skin, and he hadn’t quite come to terms with them yet.
He wouldn’t let Uruha into the shower with him. He slept in long pyjamas instead of shirtless like he used to. Uruha didn’t know what it was exactly about the scars that bothered him, whether it was because he was self-conscious about the way he looked or whether it was because they were a reminder of what happened. He thought that it was likely a little of both.
So, they couldn’t go to the beach and they couldn’t go to an onsen. But they could come to a cosy cabin in the mountains, where they would wrap themselves up warm and cuddle in front of the fire. That was something Uruha knew Fushimi could do, which was why he’d suggested it.
Though trudging now through the snow, he was beginning to regret it, just a little bit.
“Nearly there,” Fushimi said.
The snow was falling more heavily now, the flakes thick and piling upon the ground quickly. Soon enough the way up would be completely impassible. They knew this would happen, and it was a part of the plan; to be stuck somewhere together, in their own little world.
At last, the cabin came into view. It was solidly built of wood and stone, flanked by tall fir trees, grey green with snow blanketing their boughs. On the other side the landscape opened out onto a view of a valley, fields and forests and a twisting crystalline river. In the distance lay the mountains, almost obscured now by the oncoming blizzard. Uruha spared them a glance as Fushimi found the key and unlocked the door with clumsy fingers, and when he pushed it open they both hurried inside.
The cabin had been prepared for them ahead of time; it wasn’t freezing, but there was a chill in the air. Fushimi shut the door and let the backpack drop to the ground with a thud. He kicked off his boots but kept on his gloves and his woolly hat, rubbing his hands together.
“Fuck, it’s cold,” he said.
Uruha took off his hat and tapped the snowflakes off onto the doormat, then leant it against the wall. “Maybe there’s a fire?”
“There was a picture of a fire in the leaflet,” Fushimi said. “I’ll go see if I can get one started.”
“Okay.” Uruha picked up the backpack. “I’ll take our stuff to the bedroom.”
It wasn’t a big cabin; from the entry there was a hallway leading down to where the living room was, positioned so it would have the best view. On one side of the hall there were two doors to a small kitchen and bathroom, and on the other just one door, leading to the bedroom. In the leaflet there had been a fire in there too, a small log burner. Uruha shivered again, and before he went to the bedroom he took off his cloak and hung it from a hook, thinking that he would soon warm up.
The bedroom was the very definition of cosy, Uruha was glad to see, though of course the fire was unlit. The double bed had heavy wooden posts and headboard, and it was piled high with thick blankets. Through the window he could see the trees and the snowflakes drifting down. A small blackbird fluttered and landed on a branch, dislodging a clump of snow. Uruha felt a smile tug at his lips; somewhere in the backpack there was a camera. He would have to take pictures.
He unpacked quickly, stowing their clothes in a chest of drawers made of the same wood as the bed and setting the bag of toiletries on top to take to the bathroom, as well as the things for the kitchen. After a moment of consideration, Uruha hid a bottle of lube in the drawer of the nightstand. His cheeks warmed at the thought. They hadn’t had sex since before the fall of Kokugoku Fortress, and though Uruha would give Fushimi all the time he needed, he was hoping that it would happen again soon. He missed having sex with him. They did it all the time at Kokugoku, whether it was after they’d sparred and they were all wound up or when they awoke in the mornings, sleepy and content. But with Fushimi’s new scars he balked when Uruha would slide a hand up his shirt, and the moment would be lost. They could do it fully clothed, Uruha supposed, but he knew if they did that then Fushimi would get stuck in his own thoughts about it.
Uruha flopped down onto the bed, onto the soft piles of blankets. Maybe it would be here, lost in their own little world and swathed in warmth and comfort against the cold, that Fushimi would be able to take this step. Uruha didn’t want to get his hopes up; he wanted to give him time, but he wanted him to be secure and happy in himself again, to know that Uruha still thought he was beautiful and handsome and as bright and dazzling as the sun.
The bed was so comfortable that he was loathe to get up, but when he heard the faint sound of a match being struck he decided to go and see how Fushimi was doing with the fire. He slid off the bed and padded down the hall to the living room, stopping briefly at the bathroom and kitchen to put their things in there.
His eyes went first to the big window, to the snowflakes eddying in the wind, the valley beyond almost completely invisible now. He couldn’t see the mountains at all, or if he could, he didn’t know it. They were the same pale grey as the sky. Thick curtains hung either side of the window, but Uruha didn’t want to close them yet. He wanted to sit here in the warmth and watch the cold outside.
And speaking of warmth, Fushimi was crouched on a rug in front of the big stone fireplace with matches in hand and a triumphant grin on his face. The spark had caught and the fire roared to life, flames licking at the carefully arranged logs.
Fushimi turned to look up at Uruha when he came in and his grin widened. “There you are,” he said. “What’s the bedroom like?”
“Cosy,” said Uruha. “Thre’s a fire in there, too.”
“I’ll go do that one in a minute.” He sat back on his heels and held his hands out to warm them; he’d already taken off his gloves.
There was a couch in front of the fire, old and soft and worn. Just like the beds, it was piled with blankets. Uruha sat down and patted the seat next to him. “I’m cold,” he said.
“I need to go hang up my coat,” Fushimi said with an apologetic smile.
Uruha pouted as he left to go and take his coat off. The snow had melted from it and dripped on the rug. Uruha hoped it would dry soon, because they had marshmallows and chocolate and crackers in the kitchen to make s’mores with.
Fushimi didn’t return immediately, and Uruha heard him clattering about in the kitchen. They’d brought enough food for a few days, and some of it needed to go in the fridge. It didn’t stop Uruha’s impatience, though. He unfurled one of the blankets, a thick plaid one, and wrapped it about his shoulders, then lifted his feet to tuck them up under himself and rested his head on a cushion. He watched the fire, the flickering flames dancing yellow and orange. Though it was only afternoon, it was already getting dark. The sky was a dark grey and the snowflakes pale. Beyond them he could see nothing at all, just the snowy ground falling away in a gentle slope. There was a shed at one side of the cabin, he knew, where there would be sleds. Maybe they could do that tomorrow, launch themselves down the hill, crammed onto one tiny sled as they screamed with laughter.
He didn’t even realise that he’d dozed off until Fushimi came back in and gently lifted his legs so he could sit down. Uruha blinked sleepily and yawned. “Where’d you go?” he asked.
Fushimi put Uruha’s legs down on his lap and ran a hand up his calf under the blanket. It was a little damp still; probably he should have got changed earlier, but now he didn’t want to move. The fire was warming his face and when Fushimi took hold of one of his feet and rubbed it he let out an inadvertent moan.
“I put the food in the fridge and lit the fire in the bedroom,” Fushimi said. He squeezed Uruha’s foot and smiled at him.
“I guess I was asleep,” Uruha said, yawning again. It was even darker outside now than before, black but for the slight glow of the snow.
“Want some hot chocolate?”
Uruha pushed the blanket off himself. “I’ll do it,” he said, noticing that Fushimi had changed clothes, into track pants and a hoodie. “I want to get changed.”
When he got up from the couch, Fushimi dove into his place and snuggled into the blanket, looking up at him with shining gold eyes. The firelight made them even brighter, glimmering and flickering in the glow. Uruha ruffled his hair and he snorted with laughter. It was gold too, soft and shiny, covering the scars that Hiruhiko had left him with. Uruha knew where they were even if he couldn’t see them, two jagged lines on his temple from where he’d been knocked out.
More covered scars. They were different to the others, the old ones, a couple on his arms he’d taken on missions over the years. He’d never been self-conscious about those, but then those scars didn’t shame him the way the new ones did. Uruha knew how Fushimi thought, even if he didn’t agree with him; in those scars he saw his own failure.
Time, he reminded himself. He needs time.
In the kitchen, Uruha set a pot of milk on the stove to simmer and went to change. He put on pyjama pants and a big soft sweater, and pulled his hair loose from its ponytail so it fell to his shoulders. He glanced at the nightstand. Would that lube see any use? He told himself not to be disappointed if it didn’t. Back in the kitchen the milk was hot and bubbling. Uruha found the hot chocolate powder and added some to two mugs. He poured over the milk and stirred, then topped the both of them with marshmallows. Hardly an aphrodisiac, but—
Don’t think about that.
Uruha took the mugs back into the warm living room, and when Fushimi sat up straight he tucked himself in beside him, resting a head on his shoulder and handing him his hot chocolate.
“This is nice,” he said contentedly.
Fushimi slurped a marshmallow from his mug. “I’m glad we came here,” he said. “Let’s make snowmen tomorrow. Or go sledding.”
“Sure.”
They drank their hot chocolates and watched the flickering fire and the snow outside, cold and warm in one.
Uruha began to grow sleepy again. He put his empty mug down on a side table and closed his eyes, and Fushimi did the same. His head was resting on Uruha’s, his arm around his shoulders. The blanket covered their laps and the fire warmed their faces. The freezing walk from the road up to the cabin seemed like a distant memory now, even though it had only been a few hours.
The fire was burning low when Uruha woke up, smouldering embers glowing in the darkened room. Both he and Fushimi had slumped over while they were sleeping, and now Fushimi was half on top of him and snoring. Uruha smiled and carefully extricated himself from under him, lowering him to lie down properly as he stood up. Fushimi snorted but didn’t wake; Uruha covered him with a blanket and crept over to the window.
Snow still fell outside. When he put his face close to the glass he could feel the chill, and he could see it piling high against the walls of the cabin, soft and cloudlike. The flakes were so thick now that they looked like little white moths drifting down from the clouds above, dark and heavy and hiding the moon and the stars. Uruha pulled the curtains shut, wanting to keep out the cold. Then he turned back to the fire, walking over with silent footsteps so he wouldn’t wake Fushimi. A blackened iron poker hung beside it, which Uruha used to prod the embers until they flickered again. He added another couple of logs and prodded some more, satisfied with himself when the fire flared to life.
Fushimi stirred behind him, but when Uruha turned he saw he was still asleep. He must’ve been more tired than he let on. One of his feet was sticking out from under the blanket, so Uruha covered it, then stood to take their empty hot chocolate mugs to the kitchen. He was awake now, and didn’t know if he would be able to get back to sleep. Possibly he would be able to, but he didn’t want to end up sleepless when they actually went to bed either. With that in mind, he figured he ought to wake Fushimi so later he wouldn’t lie awake, staring at the ceiling, overthinking.
Uruha took the s’mores ingredients into the living room and set them on the hearth. He speared a marshmallow on a wooden skewer, then crept over to Fushimi and tapped him on the nose with it.
Fushimi grumbled and his eyelids fluttered. His blonde lashes glinted in the firelight. “Uruha?” he murmured.
“That’s me,” Uruha said. “Do you want s’mores?”
S’mores was the magic word. Fushimi threw off the blanket and rolled off the couch, grabbing the skewer from Uruha with a grin on his face. “Yeah, I want s’mores,” he said, and leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips before shuffling closer to the fire.
Making s’mores was fun. Uruha put squares of chocolate onto crackers and Fushimi thrust his skewer into the fire until the marshmallow was brown and melty, then he smeared it onto the chocolate as Uruha sandwiched it with another cracker. He told Uruha to eat the first one and when Uruha did he shivered with delight; it was the perfect snack to eat in a winter cabin. The cracker was crunchy and slightly sweet, the chocolate melting and creamy and the marshmallow sticky and sugary. Fushimi toasted another marshmallow and Uruha helped him sandwich it. He wolfed it down and Uruha took up a skewer of his own.
They ate four s’mores each, and Uruha was considering a fifth when he realised that Fushimi was staring at him. “What is it?” he said.
“You have chocolate on your chin,” murmured Fushimi.
“Oh.” Uruha reached up to wipe it away with a thumb, but Fushimi grabbed his wrist before he could do anything.
“Let me,” he said, and Uruha smiled as Fushimi leaned in and licked the chocolate from his skin, then moved to his lips to kiss him.
This time, it was a proper kiss. Fushimi slipped his tongue into Uruha’s mouth and he tasted as sweet as the s’mores. Uruha wrapped his arms around him and moaned against his lips, closing his eyes and falling backwards, pulling Fushimi with him as he fell down onto the rug.
They both laughed, but Fushimi didn’t stop. He nipped at Uruha’s bottom lip when he moaned again and he nudged his thighs apart with a knee. A shiver of anticipation went up Uruha’s spine but he didn’t dare hope for too much. Still, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting. Warmth pooled in the pit of his stomach as the desire began to stir in him. If Fushimi kept this up he’d be hard before long.
But before long came even quicker than he’d anticipated. Fushimi tasted like sugar and chocolate and when he pressed himself against Uruha as he kissed him, Uruha couldn’t help but groan and gasp. His cock strained against his underwear and his hips bucked upwards involuntarily. Fushimi broke the kiss and lifted his head and Uruha’s eyes widened.
“Sorry,” he said quickly.
“What?” Fushimi blinked at him. His cheeks were flushed and when his hair fell forwards it brushed Uruha’s cheek.
“If I, uh—” Uruha cringed, far too aware of his erection and how it was pressing against Fushimi’s thigh, “—if it’s, you know. Too much, too soon.”
Fushimi sighed, and to Uruha’s dismay he got off him, rolling onto his back and lying next to him on the rug instead, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” he said.
It was more than Fushimi had given him before. Uruha didn’t dare move in case it made him bottle his feelings up again as he’d seemed to do before, as much as he wanted to put a hand on his chest, to stroke his face and cup his cheek.
“Like what?” he said softly.
“Weak.”
Uruha swallowed. Weak, he thought. Because Kokugoku Fortress had fallen and Fushimi hadn’t been able to defeat Hiruhiko. Because even though he and some of the other men had survived, there were those who hadn’t. Because he’d given his life for Uruha and Uruha had died anyway, despite the fact that he’d come back. Those scars were his failings, writ on his skin.
That was what they were to him. Not to Uruha. Never that.
“You are not weak,” he whispered, changing his mind about staying still, rolling onto his side and rubbing a hand up Fushimi’s chest. He took him by the chin and tilted his face towards himself.
“I let my men die,” said Fushimi. “I let you die.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re weak.”
“I don’t know.” Fushimi closed his eyes. “I know we never could have done anything about the Datenseki, and I know you came back, but—”
He trailed off and Uruha prompted him; “But what?”
“But isn’t that all you think of?” said Fushimi. “When you see the scars? Aren’t they ugly?”
Maybe words weren’t enough. Uruha had offered plenty of those since they’d been reunited, and while Fushimi’s words were a comfort to him, Fushimi might have needed more than that. Telling him that he wasn’t weak, that he wasn’t ugly, it couldn’t break through his doubt alone. Was that why he’d insisted on carrying to bag up to the cabin? Uruha didn’t know, but in the warmth and the bright glow of the fire he was going to show him how he felt.
He pushed himself upright and slung a leg over Fushimi, straddling him. “How can you ask me that?” he said, sliding his hands up inside Fushimi’s hoodie and the t-shirt he wore beneath. Fushimi tensed, but he didn’t tell him to stop. “You really think I’d find you ugly? Because of some scars?”
“I don’t know,” Fushimi said.
“Let me show you what I think,” Uruha said. He gave the hem of his hoodie a tug and raised his eyebrows.
Fushimi considered it, but only for a moment. Then, he nodded, and slowly he pulled off his hoodie and t-shirt both, up over his head, and he pushed them aside.
Uruha could feel the tension in his muscles just by sitting on him. He could see the fear in his eyes that he refused to let cow him. You’re so brave, he thought. I know it’s hard.
Looking down at him, it was hard for Uruha not to feel an ache in his heart; an ache of sympathy, of understanding. Each of the new scars was no more than an inch long, but there were dozens of them, over his chest and his abs, even a few on his shoulders and arms. There were some on his thighs, too, Uruha knew.
But he was still beautiful. Uruha leaned down and kissed him softly on the lips, then moved to the edge of his jaw. He kissed his way down over his neck and onto his chest, his lips finding the scars and brushing each of them in turn.
“I love you,” he whispered against his skin.
Fushimi wound his fingers into his hair and combed them through it. “Even like this?” he said.
“Especially like this,” said Uruha. “What you did, it—it kept me going.”
Throughout the fighting, it had been Fushimi in his mind, telling him to keep fighting, to live. Without him he wouldn’t have been able to do it. Without him he would have failed. He kissed Fushimi’s stomach and smiled when he felt him relax a little. Most of the cuts weren’t deep – superficial wounds – but then there were those that had left him bleeding out at the station, where the paper had embedded deep in the muscles. Those scars were larger, ragged ridges of tissue. Uruha kissed them just like the others and Fushimi sighed with something like relief.
Uruha was getting hard again; the desire was back. When he’d kissed his way down to the waistband of Fushimi’s pants he lifted his head and looked up at him, not quite daring to hope.
Fushimi met his gaze, golden eyes shining with the glow of the fire.
“It’s been a while, huh?” he said in a low voice. “Come here.”
He lifted his hands and beckoned Uruha forwards. Uruha shuffled up, straddling him again, and Fushimi took hold of his hips and squeezed. Sitting on him like this, Uruha could feel that he was hard as well. “Yes,” he said, trying not to let the waver of his voice betray how desperate he was for this. “A while.”
Fushimi fingered the hem of his sweater. “Did you bring lube?” When Uruha nodded he laughed. “Oh, you were expecting this?”
“No!” said Uruha, indignant. “Just, just in case—”
“I know.” Fushimi squeezed him again. “Go get it?”
Uruha grumbled but he did it, ignoring the bulge in his pants and Fushimi’s as he stood and trotted off to the bedroom. He grabbed the lube from the drawer of the nightstand and when he came back Fushimi had shed his pants, leaving him in his underwear alone. Uruha’s cheeks flushed with warmth at the sight of him and his eyes drifted down to his scarred and muscled thighs. He’d pulled the blanket down off the couch and spread it over the rug to give them a softer bed, and he was lying on it, propped on his elbows. When he saw the lube in Uruha’s hand, he grinned.
“Gimme that,” he said, holding out a hand, a mischievous smile playing about his lips. When Uruha passed the lube to him he tilted his head. “Take off your clothes?”
Fushimi said it like a question, as though Uruha would object. He grinned and pulled off his sweater, tossing it over onto the couch. He wasn’t wearing anything under it and he saw Fushimi’s eyes go to his own scars. The old ones on his arms and the new one on his shoulder from Samura, where he’d cut through the one that was there already. Shirakai had given him that one in training; it was poetic, in a way. Then there was the one on his side, that from Samura as well. Uruha wasn’t bothered by them in the way that Fushimi was; those scars were a part of Samura’s plan, a plan which had ended up saving Uruha and the other wielders.
But he didn’t want to think about that. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past; now was the time to take the next step into his and Fushimi’s future. He pulled down his pants and kicked them away, pleased that Fushimi’s eyes went straight from his scars to the tented fabric. There was a damp patch at the front where he was already leaking pre-come. He pulled those down as well, unbothered by being completely naked, because the two of them had had three years together and more than two of those years they’d spent actually together, as friends and lovers and everything in between and more than that. Boyfriends; partners; soulmates.
Fushimi watched him all the while, keeping himself propped on an elbow as he opened the lube and slicked up his fingers. When Uruha was naked he nodded and looked up at him from under his lashes. “C’mere,” he said. “Help me get my underwear off?”
Uruha straddled him again and hooked his fingers into his waistband. The self-consciousness seemed to have disappeared, at least for the moment. Uruha eased down his underwear, over his thighs and knees, and Fushimi kicked them off. Uruha decided to tease him then; he shuffled back until Fushimi’s cock was in the cleft of his ass and he wriggled, rubbing against him. Fushimi’s cheeks grew pinker and he bit his lip to stifle a moan.
“I’ve missed this,” Uruha said. He could feel Fushimi growing slick with pre-come, so he did it again, rubbing against him and dragging another stifled moan from him.
“Fuck, Uruha,” said Fushimi, putting down the lube and grabbing his hip, pulling him forward so he could reach around to touch him. “So I have I.”
Uruha put his hands on Fushimi’s chest to brace himself as Fushimi circled his hole with the tip of his finger. When he eased it into him he couldn’t help himself and he gasped and shivered. He really had missed this, the feel of Fushimi in him. He’d touched himself and imagined a few times since they’d reunited but it wasn’t the same. Fushimi knew how to touch him and he knew how to make it feel good. He crooked his finger inside him and a jolt of electricity went shooting up Uruha’s spine.
“Do that again,” Uruha gasped, leaning down and kissing him hungrily.
Fushimi did as he was told; he curved his finger and stroked the inside of him and Uruha moaned into his mouth. He did it again and again and then he was easing a second finger into him and Uruha was moaning too much to keep kissing him. He gasped against the side of his neck instead and nipped at him and sucked at a sliver of his skin and Fushimi got a third finger into him, working him open with practised ease.
Uruha couldn’t bear it anymore. He lifted his head and pushed himself upright, whimpering when Fushimi’s fingers slid deep. “I’m ready,” he said. “I need you.”
Fushimi’s expression softened. “I need you, too,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry I took so long.”
In answer, Uruha leaned down and kissed him once more, long and slow. Fushimi pulled his fingers out of him and when Uruha sat back up he grabbed the lube. Uruha watched him pour some into his hand, and he took him by the hip again as he stroked the lube onto his cock. Uruha was unbearably hard; he knew that he wasn’t going to last long, not when he’d been wanting this so much. He let Fushimi guide him as he lowered himself until he felt the press of his cock against his waiting hole. Fushimi gave his hip another squeeze.
“Slowly,” he reminded him.
Uruha snorted. “You don’t have to tell me how to do this.”
“I know.” Fushimi beamed at him. “But I also know you’re impatient.”
Uruha rolled his eyes rather than admit that he had a point. He moaned when Fushimi’s cock slipped into him and he was hard to resist the urge to sink down and take him all at once. He wanted to feel him, but Fushimi’s grip on his hip was tight, and so he went slowly, taking him inch by inch. It was excruciating, and when Fushimi was finally, finally inside him completely, Uruha let out a shuddering moan.
After Kokugoku Fortress fell, in the snatches of time when Uruha could actually breathe, he thought that he would never have this again. He thought that the two of them would be consigned to the past, and that he would always have to wonder about what could have been. The scars on Fushimi’s body were proof that they had made it, from the then to the now, that they really were allowed to find out what the future would hold.
Fushimi took him by both hips, rubbing a circle on his skin with his thumb. “Uruha,” he said softly.
Uruha nodded. Slowly, he began to move. Fushimi kept hold of him, guiding him as he lifted himself up and sank back down. And—oh, it was good. Really good. Fushimi’s cock pressed against the inside of him, and when he took him all the way in him again, warmth bloomed in the pit of his stomach. He began to speed up and Fushimi began to move with him, thrusting up as Uruha came down, slamming into him from below. He grunted and Uruha gasped, closing his eyes and letting his head loll back and losing himself in the feeling of this.
Warmth burned in him and around him, the fire holding them safe from the cold outside. “Fushimi,” he moaned. “Fushimi—”
It was obvious that he was close. Fushimi kept one hand on his hip and the other went to his dick. He thrust up into him and jerked him off as well, moving faster and faster, fucking him harder as Uruha slammed down onto him.
“I’m going to come,” said Uruha, trying to keep his voice even, unable to as it turned to a whimper on the last word.
“Good,” Fushimi said, breathing heavily. Uruha opened his eyes and looked down at him, flushed and sweating, his scarred chest heaving. “So am I.”
Uruha’s thighs were beginning to ache but he went faster and faster, because it felt so good and he wanted it to feel even better, to feel more. The heat was building in him, Fushimi’s touch dragging him closer and closer to the edge until he thrust up into him as Uruha came down hard and he finished. He let out a ragged gasp and he came all over Fushimi’s stomach, and Fushimi let go of his cock so he could grab him by the arms and pull him down on top of him to kiss him as he finished too.
He didn’t let go. He slid his arms around him and hugged him tight, and Uruha pulled away from his mouth so he could bury his face in the crook of his neck. He could feel the stickiness between them and Fushimi growing soft inside him. He wanted to stay like this forever.
They lay there for a little while, and probably would have lain there all night, but the fire was starting to burn low. Reluctantly, Uruha pushed himself upright and eased himself off Fushimi so he could poke it back into life and add another log. Once it was crackling happily away again they went to the bathroom and showered together, kissing under the spray of hot water and washing the sweat and come from their skin.
After that they curled up on the couch again. When they got hungry they made more s’mores, and Uruha kissed Fushimi so he could taste the sugar on his tongue. They went to sleep when it got late, cuddling under the thick blankets in the comfortable bed, the curtains open just a crack so that they could watch the snow drift down. It was warm in the bedroom, with its small fire flickering in the log burner.
Fushimi slept without a shirt on, and Uruha pressed himself against him, feeling the warmth of his skin against his own.
In the morning they woke up to a dazzling light. The snowstorm had stopped and the clouds had cleared. When Uruha wrenched open the curtains of the bedroom he saw the world blanketed with sparkling white snow, thick and crisp. With a grin on his face he went to the living room and pulled those curtains open as well.
The view was beautiful. Beyond the cabin there was a gentle hill down into the valley, where a frozen river wended this way and that. Trees were dotted over the slopes, some with bare boughs and others – pines and firs – seeming a bright green against the white. All were covered with snow, clumps of it occasionally falling as birds fluttered from branch to branch. Off in the distance were the mountains, their rocky slopes stark and grey except up above, where ice crept down.
Fushimi padded in behind Uruha and slid his arms around him. He rested his chin on his shoulder.
“It’s beautiful,” he said, and planted a kiss on the edge of his jaw. “Want to go sledding?”
Uruha grinned and twisted in his arms. “Winner gets the rest of the s’mores,” he said.
“You’re on!”