gigantomachy: (merlin - kinda porny)
gigantomachy ([personal profile] gigantomachy) wrote on July 30th, 2011 at 02:47 pm
[hakuouki] the art of diversion
Yeaaaaah, here goes another one.  Prompt is Sano/Hijikata; Sano tries to get lucky with the vice-commander.  I started writing it late last night and just kind of ... yeah.  I'm not really sure how to excuse it.  Not porn, but definitely a little bit of drunken manly exploration.


Dude, I don't know.  Just go with it?


--

the art of diversion
(made another masterpiece while I was dreaming)


Hijikata has been awake for longer than he can accurately remember; nights and days blur in a riot of fading color and activity, endless lists of receipts and requisitions and missives, new recruits and their commanders and the orders they all require.  With Kondou gone, he has simply had no time.


Until now, that is.  The ink is drying on his reply to the commander of the Mimawarigumi, and in the aftermath Hijikata is left restless, coiled tight; light and languid and buzzing with sleeplessness, he feels bereft with no sign of further duties that need his attention.  For a moment, something like panic touches the back of his mind, a fluttering sense of emptiness that sends his gaze skittering across the room, quietly desperate.


He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes (just for a moment) to center himself before he reaches down, opening the drawer of his desk to retrieve a neatly bundled sheaf of paper, the name Hougyoku written neatly down the front.


Hijikata is reaching for his brush when he hears the even thud of bare feet against the porch outside his door.  He stills, tensing for a split-second before he realizes he recognizes that swaggering gait; it is for this reason alone that he does not draw his sword, not even when the door to his room slides open, letting a draft in to lick at the flame of his lantern.


"Fukuchou." Sano's voice is just slightly slurred as he shuffles inside and slides closed the shouji in a whisper of wood.  Hijikata pauses, fingers spread over the ink brush, tilting his head to one side as the other man seats himself behind and to the right.  "I saw your lantern burning.  Again."  There's a soft note of disapproval in Sano's voice as he says it.  "Do you know how late it is?"


Hijikata opens his mouth, closes it again.  He wants to tell Sano that it's none of his business, that it's simply duties he must attend.  Instead, what comes out is, "you remember, don't you, that it's against the rules to be out late, much less drinking."  It's not as cold as it could be, but he winces inwardly nonetheless.  He's had this conversation before, and he's similarly aware of Harada's recessive (but fierce when triggered) penchant for mothering.


Surprisingly, Sano just chuckles, leaning forward to peer over Hijikata's shoulder, close enough that Hijikata can smell the sake on his captain's breath.  "Ah, well -- it's not so bad.  Saitou an' I were just sharing a few cups before bed, that's all." A beat, and then a hand on his arm, gripping lightly.  "Don't you worry ... 'm not gonna do anything to cut myself open over, yet." 


Hijikata bristles at that, turning his head, not quite enough to face his subordinate but more than enough to display the stormy look brewing in his eyes.  Sano just frowns at that, sighing; the vice-commander's nostrils flare at the pungent scent of alcohol.  "A joke.  You remember those, yeah?"


"What are you saying?"  Hijikata's words are quiet and flat, evenly spaced, almost a growl.


For a moment, it seems like Sano might leave.  His hand falls away from Hijikata's arm, and Sano rocks back on his heels, chuckling quietly.  But a moment later he's back again, this time draping his arms around Hijikata's shoulders, burying his nose in the long, straight sweep of his hair and inhaling deep.  "I'm sayin'," he murmurs, dry lips moving against the nape of Hijikata's neck, "that you're workin' too much.  'm sayin' that we're all worried, about the commander, and Okita.  An' you."


Those arms tighten, too loose to be an embrace but certainly pushing the line.  Hijikata's shoulders slump, just barely, in the wake of those soft words, under the weight of Sano's clumsy, sincere concern.  Have I been so transparent?


"'m sayin'," Sano continues, mercilessly, breathing each word into Hijikata's hair as he makes his way upwards to bury his nose in the warm space behind the shell of the vice-commander's ear, "that th' rest of us are out there, sick for wanting t'help ya."


"You're drunk, Harada," Hijikata whispers, because it is both true and the only way he can think of to respond to this quiet barrage.


Sano just laughs, leaning in closer, pressing close to mold his body against Hijikata's back.  "I s'pose you're right," he mutters with a quiet laugh, but apparently that doesn't mean much in the long run; his head drops to press a gentle kiss to the pale curve of Hijikata's neck, callused fingers slipping into the collar of his vice-commander's sleeping yukata to find warm skin.  "When's th' last time you ate?"  Another kiss, this one open-mouthed and damp with a hint of teeth.  "When's th' last time you slept?"


Hijikata is fairly certain that Sano might have a point in there, somewhere.  Something in his brain has to be broken, utterly and irrevocably as evidenced by the fact that his captain is still here, still breathing, still openly committing what he's fairly certain is the most brazen (and pleasant, but really) assault upon his person to date.  And he's letting him, shivering like a village maiden at the sensation of Sano's soft hair tickling his jaw.


"Come t' bed," Sano murmurs, glancing up at Hijikata with heavy-lidded eyes.  "Call it stress relief.  It'll all be there in the mornin', yeah?"


Hijikata turns, blinking at Sano, a little owlish.  It takes him more than a few seconds to parse the invitation for what it is.  (Definitely, he thinks, definitely something broken right here in my head.)   "You're drunk," he repeats softly, almost wonderingly.


"Yeah."  Sano's grin is a little rakish as his other hand snakes around Hijikata's waist, resting low on his belly, suggestive.


"I-I think that's ... not necessarily the sort of relief I need, Harada."


"Mm, maybe not," the captain agrees, and nips at Hijikata's shoulder.  "Come t'bed."


Hijikata's not sure how to argue with that, or if he even wants to.  Sano apparently takes his silence for acquiesce, and tugs (drags) him, gently if not a little clumsily, toward his futon.   That light-headed, strangely buoyant sensation persists as Sano presses him down into bed, the cage of his arms a soft-focused arch as his captain nuzzles his neck, running a hand along his side.  He makes a quiet noise, dark eyes fluttering and finally closing as Sano laps at the hollow where Hijikata's collarbones meet, dragging his tongue along graceful curves of bone and muscle before dropping lower to suck wet kisses to the bare skin framed by the open collar of his kimono.


A moment later, Sano's hands are at Hijikata's obi, tugging at the heavy fabric.  His gaze strays upwards, and he pauses --


--and smiles, soft and fond, breathing a quiet sigh as his hands draw back to settle on his thighs.


Hijikata's head is tilted to the side, eyes shuttered, lips parted just barely, a wing of dark hair slung carelessly across his forehead.  Fast asleep.  That smile threatens to become something more, and Sano puts a hand to his mouth to keep the quiet laughter at bay.


It figures, really it does.


"Idiot," he mutters without malice, and leans forward to brush that stray lock of hair back from the vice-commander's forehead.  Even through his dull haze of inebriation, it's easy to see how the strain of the last few weeks has taken its toll on Hijikata, darkening the skin beneath his eyes, hollowing his cheeks, drawing the color from his face.  And yet he looks peaceful here, untroubled, the faintest hint of what might have blossomed into a smile tugging the corner of Hjikata's thin lips.


It's something, Sano supposes, as he tugs the cover over Hijikata and silently rises to his feet.  One way or another, his vice-commander's due for a few hours of rest, however he can get them.  Still, he thinks he's due at least a little bit of disappointment; the memory of Hijikata, soft and pliant beneath his hands, is certainly a pleasant one.


Sano makes his way over to the desk, glancing briefly at the innocuous bundle of what can only be Hijikata's secret, legendary haiku stash -- he's survived greater temptations, however, and so turns his attention to the lantern, blowing it out before heading for the door.


As far as sacrifices made for the cause go, it wasn't half bad. He considers that and chuckles to himself as he makes his way to his own room.


Tonight, he thinks, he'll be the sleepless one.


-fin 7.30.11


--


I ... don't really know what to say to this, other than I'd like to think this isn't the first time Tsun-tsun fukuchou here missed out on great sex by immediately passing right the fuck out.  Still probably better than spending that time his (notoriously bad) haiku.


Like I mentioned on plurk; this feels a little messed up.  Generally I'm supposed to receive porn/should-have-been-if-Toshi-wasn't-retarded-almost-porn for my birthday, right?  THIS IS SO BACKWARDS.


I kept losing my train of thought with this because I just got a new pair of amazing headphones and I've been listening to a ton of newer Shearwater and slkdjfsd I kept getting caught up in the bells and dulcimers and banjos and stuff.  If this ended up weird and disjointed, blame Jonathan Meiburg.
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