Work Text:
Gintoki rounds the street corner, cursing his luck that they ever took this damn job. Really, they should know better than to accept anything from that stupid prince and his useless attendant, seeing as how interactions with the antennaed pair only seem to cause them irreparable pain and suffering. Hell, it’s basically their fault that Madao lost his fancy pants government job and now follows Gintoki around like a lost puppy. And to add insult to very real injury, they don’t even pay well! Look, the average lost cat job may not net much, but a lost Eldritch abomination is—and he’s stating what should be plainly obvious here—a different beast entirely. Plus the idiot is royalty, so it’s not like he doesn’t have money to throw around!
Dreams of wealth redistribution run through his head as he cuts through to the other side of the street and turns another corner, groaning out loud when the creature eludes him yet again. How long has he been at this godforsaken Benny Hill chase scene now? It feels like hours at least that he’s been hunting the stupid thing and he has no idea how it’s possible for the thing to travel so fast on those nubby little feet of theirs, yet here he is. Just when he thinks he has it, it vanishes again as if using Pac-Man physics to blink off the map and rematerialize across town.
Exhausted, he leans on the side of the nearest building to catch his breath and consider his next move.
The creature in question is a two-foot tall sunflower-like Amanto with a petal-rimmed head, bulbous green body, and appendages like large leaves. It has the appearance of something that might seem sweet and cuddly in theory, but in actuality verges too close into the uncanny valley of cuteness to have any real appeal. And even if one did make the mistake of taking a liking to the creepy thing, Gintoki just knows there’s an Itō-inspired horror lurking just underneath its quaint surface. His skin crawls, imagining the alien peeling back its perpetual smile to reveal a mouth full of venomous, needle-like teeth and a thousand pitch-black, extra-dimensional eyes.
That is until he catches a glimpse of yellow and green tottering around across the road. He hates how quickly he pushes himself off the wall and back into chase, but 35,000 yen is 35,000 yen and feeding Kagura and that giant mutt ain’t cheap.
This time, he doesn’t let the Amanto out of his sight as he pursues it down the busy downtown streets without regard for pedestrians, vendors, or anyone else unlucky enough to stand between him and his mark. The crowds blur as he plows through them, eyes trained on the plant gamboling unnaturally fast down the sidewalk. He’s almost there, almost caught up to it, when it jerks suddenly down yet another alley. Gintoki skids clumsily on his heel to follow when he hits something that feels just one notch softer than a brick wall and careens helplessly to the ground.
“Oi!! Watch where you’re going, dumbass!”
Shit! Gintoki laments. He’s too busy to tangle with this onery mass of unresolved sexual tension right now!
Gintoki scrambles, trying to regain his footing among their entwined limbs only for Hijikata to wrench him by the ankle, sending him tumbling face-forward into the pavement. He hears a distinct crack when he connects with the hard ground and his nose explodes with a sudden swell of pain and surge of warm blood.
“Hey! Where the hell do you think you’re going, huh?!”
Damn it, every second he’s stuck here with this mayonnaise-addicted cop shrieking at him is another second those 35,000 yen hobble further from his painfully empty clutches!
“Look, asshole, I’m kind of busy right now!” Gintoki hollers, muffled slightly by the yukata sleeve bunched against his freshly injured nose. “Just let me catch this damn thing and you can do whatever you want with me —just let me fucking go!” Each word punctuates with a sharp tug of his restrained ankle as he pleads for his freedom.
Hijikata snarls up at him like a rabid dog, probably about to say something stupid like ‘You wish, you piece of shit!’ when a large prehensile leaf and petaled head poke out from the alley it disappeared into only moments before. The creature squeals and aims a sanguine smile at them with its dull, unsettling face. And, oh, Gintoki knows that asshole is just toying with him now.
“C’mon, Hijikata-kun,” he pleads, pulling his foot desperately out of the cop’s grasp, “it’s right fucking there!”
“You think I give a rat’s ass about whatever lousy, skeezy, sorry excuse for a job you’ve…” Hijikata balks, his rant falling off abruptly as his eyes hone in on the Amanto just as it vanishes behind the building again. Disturbed, Hijikata involuntarily loosens his grip just enough that Gintoki can snag his foot away and make a break for it.
He stumbles blindly toward the sunflower, still clutching at his fractured nose, not wanting to chase this evasive little bastard around any more than he already has. He knows Hijikata is right behind and, at this point, he doesn’t care if the asshole tries to arrest him. Let him do what he wants, Gintoki will just sue him for police brutality later. Whatever it takes—it’s as much about his pride—what little of it he has—as it is about the award money now.
The dim corridor cages them with high concrete walls leading into an enclosure with nothing but a dumpster and seedy vending machine. Finally, a dead end.
“Gotcha now, ya little freak,” Gintoki pulls a malevolent grin when he sees the fringe of Amanto’s petals dance back and forth behind the dumpster. Frantically, he reaches his hand into his pocket, producing a small red and white capsule. Time to end this bullshit job so he can go home. The instructions the idiot prince’s attendant gave him were straight forward enough: simply press the button on the front to enlarge it, then stand a couple of meters back and throw the ball at the Amanto. He doesn’t know how a toddler-sized sunflower is supposed to fit into a capsule the size of a baseball, but he’s learned not to question Amanto technology—especially not when it’s blatantly ripping off a popular children’s game.
What he’s not prepared for is for the Amanto to freak out once it sees the ball in his hand. The creature starts babbling and swaying, emitting a billowing cloud of sparkly, pink pollen, filling the enclosure. What the fuck! Hata’s attendant didn’t say anything about this! Panicking, Gintoki tosses the ball at it, but not before accidentally huffing a mouthful of the sweet-scented pollen. It’s like nothing he’s ever seen before even with all of the strange predicaments he gets into for the sake of the voyeuristic pleasure of anonymous viewers. A hand latches onto his shoulder and he hears a hacking cough come from behind him. No doubt Hijikata has aspirated a fair amount of the fragrant powder as well.
White light briefly engulfs the passage as the Amanto gets sucked into the ball as if transformed into an insubstantial mass of energy. The ball bounces on the pavement and rocks, one, two, three times, then clicks. Just like the attendant said it would.
“Yorozuya, oi, what the hell was that!?” the cop asks hoarsely, as if Gintoki has any clue.
He wants to smart off at him, he does, but as the pollen works its way from his lungs to his bloodstream, he’s hit with a headrush and warmth that envelopes him like a down blanket and it feels… good. Really good. Even the pain from his bloody nose subsides in the wake of the mystery chemicals flooding his nervous system.
The hand squeezing his shoulder bites into his skin, blazing hot, and when Gintoki turns to face its owner, he finds Hijikata not-quite-glowering at him, flushed face and open-mouthed. His eyes flick up to meet Hijikata’s and he sees the exact moment his pupils dilate, eclipsing his blue irises like two black holes, threatening to suck Gintoki into their depths. Coincidentally, it’s the same moment a second wave of euphoria overtakes Gintoki like a tide dragging him out to sea. It runs, crackling down his spine, more intense than the last. Somehow, the sensation that floods him is almost familiar—blissful, hot, overwhelmingly desperate, and so, so goddamn horny.
“Yo-ro-zu-ya,” Hijikata enunciates each syllable of his title, “you’re going tell me what’s going on right now. You hear me?”
Gintoki winces in response to the clipped, authoritative tone because suddenly, inexplicably, being bossed around by this brute doesn’t sound half-bad. Actually, it sounds pretty damn good. Gintoki complies to the best of his ability, “I hear you, I—Prince Hata—I was… A job! I was chasing after it for a job and… I don’t know what happened, I dont—”
The best of his ability, evidently, doesn’t amount to much. He just can’t seem to get his words out the way he wants and he doesn’t know if it’s the pollen’s doing or the predatory way Hijikata is looking at him, because he feels ready to be devoured. His disjointed rambling is interrupted by a second hand winding its way into his shirt collar—and, oh shit, when did Hijikata get so close? Through the quickly building haze he can feel breath, hot and heavy, drifting over his ear, “...You caught it, right?”
“Yeah.”
Hijikata pauses long enough to swallow down whatever lingering reservations he might have and runs both hands down to grab at Gintoki’s biceps. “And you said I could do whatever I wanted with you after, right?”
Gintoki’s chest tightens and tingling warmth pools in his abdomen. He did say that, didn’t he?
He wants to tell Hijikata yes, wants to show him just how willing he is for him, but before he can reply, Gintoki’s back slams into the wall behind him, trapping him between dingy concrete and Hijikata’s iron grip. The moan that tumbles out of his lips will have to speak for him because Hijikata leaves no room for Gintoki to form even a half-intelligible thought. His lips are on him, clashing them together, filling Gintoki’s mouth with his tongue and the metallic tang of dried blood. It only makes him run that much hotter. God, he wants Hijikata to rough him up. He can take it. The urge to get on his knees is so irresistibly intense, he doesn’t know how he’s still upright.
He wants to be fucked. Needs it.
A firm bulge presses against his thigh and he realizes Hijikata must be almost as affected as he is. Almost. Teeth and tongue scrape against his jaw and he makes no effort to stifle his voice when it echoes around the small space. He spreads his legs wider to accommodate the dick pressing against him, encouraging Hijikata to give him more attention.
Dimly, he thinks he can recall what the dizzy head high reminds him of—some kind of VCR cleaner he picked up in Yoshiwara once upon a time. Well, it wasn’t really VCR cleaner, but that’s how it was labeled in the shop. Sixty seconds of ecstasy and a hard drop. The sex he’d had while on it was some of the best he’s ever had, or at least for those seconds that it lasted, and taking dick had never been easier. This high, however, had already elapsed sixty seconds with no drop in sight.
Hijikata rolls his hips into Gintoki, squeezing him tighter between his body and the wall, running their clothed erections together. Each time like a shockwave arcing through him.
“Fuck, Yorozuya,” Hijikata’s mouth hangs slightly open, corners of his lips stained crimson with Gintoki’s blood, and stares at him through half-lidded eyes that gleam with hunger. Whatever Hijikata has in mind, Gintoki wants him to stop screwing around and just do it. And do it he does; hands claw at Gintoki’s shirt, breaking the zipper and ripping it open to reveal even more of his chest. Hijikata fills his palm and squeezes. Sucking in a sharp, ragged breath, he releases his hand and watches the soft muscle bounce slightly as gravity pulls it back down. “I can’t believe you walk around like this…” he says, cupping Gintoki’s pec once more, thumbing over his nipple, “You know what this does to me?”
“What does it do?” Gintoki whines, nuzzling his head into Hijikata’s shoulder and worming his hands deep into the warm folds of Hijikata’s uniform jacket to clutch at his back. His hips rock mindlessly, in search of friction. Anything at all.
“Makes me wanna pull you into an alley. Just. Like. This,” he groans, breathless and thrusting slowly into Gintoki’s stuttering hips. Muscles twitch and jump under Hijikata’s touch as he slides a burning hand down the plane of Gintoki’s abdomen and reaches around to the back to rest just above the curve of his ass.
“Yeah?” Gintoki’s voices quakes.
“Makes me wanna bend you over…”
Yes.
Gintoki can feel his cock throbbing in his pants at the suggestion, precum forming a wet spot through his underwear and trousers.
Fingers dip below the waistband of his pants, lower and lower, down the sensitive skin of his ass.
“And… teach you a lesson…” the words stick in Hijikata’s throat. The normally repressed-as-fuck cop is losing it, a little at time. “… what happens to sluts like you.”
Something inside Gintoki breaks when he hears Hijikata—Demon Vice Commander of the Shinsengumi, Hijikata—call him a slut so brazenly. That he wants to screw Gintoki into submission. He wants to know how much of this is real and how much of it's the pollen making Hijikata talk like a sex-crazed fiend.
Fuck. He wants it to be real.
Gintoki lifts his dizzy head from its resting place on Hijikata’s shoulder to look him in the eye, both of them dazed, dripping sweating, and feverish despite the chill draft coming up from their ankles. The mixture of hot and cold sprouting goosebumps over his flesh.
His heart thunders in his chest as he reaches his arms out of Hijikata’s jacket and grabs him by the skull, hauling him in to press their lips together. Wet and needy. Desire propels him forward, deepening it. And Hijikata is there to meet him, licking into his open mouth just as hungry. His tongue twists and slides with Gintoki’s, joining him in a sloppy, uncoordinated kiss. Just below his collected facade, Hijikata is spinning out on his own high.
Hijikata pulls away first, drawing a whimper from Gintoki as he chases after the retreating tongue, still connected with a translucent thread of saliva. His body tingles like an exposed nerve. He feels so painfully empty.
Clumsy hands untie Gintoki’s belt and obi, tossing both them and his yukata carelessly to the dirty ground. Hijikata holds him at arm’s length as his blown-out eyes rake over Gintoki’s form—his nose bloody and smeared; back arching off the wall; his shirt ruined, leaving his chest to spill out over the taut fabric; black pants tented with his erect cock leaking pitifully between his trembling thighs.
Pathetic.
“Fuck,” the word drops off Hijikata’s tongue like a brick. “Kneel.”
Gintoki falls into a crouch; he doesn’t need to be told twice. This is an order he’s more than willing to obey, even if his head spins wildly at the sudden drop. Instinctively, Gintoki goes for Hijikata’s belt buckle, his mouth salivating at the—
Thwap!
A firm hand collides with his cheek hard enough to sting—just enough to send a shock of pleasure down his spine and into his dick.
“Who told you to do that?” The question is sharp, if a little slurred.
Gintoki gawks up at him in silent wonder at the rough treatment before remembering Hijikata probably expects a reply.
“No one did.”
Fuck, he is a slut.
“ That’s right.” Hijikata chuckles meanly at him, the pollen summoning his monstrous inner S. “I fuckin’ knew it.”
Three fingers present themselves before Gintoki’s parted mouth.
“Here,” he hovers his fingers just outside Gintoki’s waiting lips, “If you want somethin’ in that mouth of yours so bad…”
Hijikata’s words trail off, but his fingers remain. The pads of his index, middle, and ring fingers press down on his bottom lip, featherlight. Gintoki opens his mouth wanting to take them in, but just as he closes in on them the fingers pull away, causing him to lurch forward.
“Oops,” Hijikata taunts him, wiggling his fingers just out of range. “Did you want these?”
Want them? If Gintoki wasn’t so agonizingly, deliriously high he’d bite them off. His sense of rebellion, however, is paltry compared to the desperation boiling hot inside him.
He nods.
“Tch, of course you do,” Hijikata scoffs, offering his fingers up to Gintoki again. “Open wide, Yorozuya.”
And Gintoki does, he lets his jaw hang slack as Hijikata’s slender fingers intrude into his mouth, the pads pressing and sliding along Gintoki’s tongue. For the life of him, Gintoki can’t figure out why it feels so good, but it does and he wants more.
Hijikata slowly draws his fingers back and forth a few times before pulling them almost all the way out again. He reaches out his left hand and nestles into silver curls. His grip is tight, angling Gintoki’s head back to face him and a cry rumbles up from Gintoki’s throat.
“Hey, bastard. Show me what you would do if this was a cock.”
This time, Gintoki can’t help himself from talking back, broken as his voice is, “Why… the real thing is right there, isn’t it?”
“Keep running your mouth and see what happens.”
Yes, yes, yes, he wants to see.
Again, he musters the will to backtalk, if only to goad Hijikata into making good on his threat. “…You’re not afraid, are you, Vice—”
Hijikata’s hand flys out of Gintoki’s hair before he can finish his sentence and slaps again into Gintoki’s cheek, hard and fast. The sharp smack echoes off the walls of the empty lot and leaves Gintoki’s ears ringing. Just like he wanted.
He groans around Hijikata’s fingers as they push back into his mouth and he finally does as he’s told. Of course, fingers and cocks are different—you can’t deep throat and choke around fingers, which is half the fun, in his opinion—but he gives a good approximation as he bobs and slides his mouth from the tips down to Hijikata’s knuckles. He hollows his cheeks, enhancing the suction and laves his tongue along the underside. It’s so easy for him to get lost doing this. Everything falling away but the fingers fucking his mouth and the horrible, empty ache consuming him.
Slut.
He doesn’t know how long Hijikata lets him go on for, especially not with how lightheaded and spaced-out he is, but eventually the fingers slip from him. Gintoki trails after them dumbly and his heart sinks when he realizes they’re not coming back. The corners of his lips curve down in disappointment at the loss, shiny-wet with saliva that coats and trickles obscenely from his chin.
With effort, his eyes flutter open. He tries hard to focus his vision, orienting himself back to the drab back alley and the man standing in front of him with pants unzipped, his hand stroking with an open palm over his boxers.
“Bend over,” Hijikata’s voice croaks lowly as he issues another order. His gaze lingers on Gintoki, who stares blankly back at Hijikata’s ruddy cheeks and sweat matted v-bangs.
“I said,” Hijikata swallows thickly, his voice taking more of its usual authoritative edge, “bend over.”
It takes longer than Hijikata is willing to wait before understanding finally sinks into Gintoki’s frazzled brain and he scrabbles on his feet, eager to please. Eager to be filled. A pair of impatient hands grasp him firmly by the hips, turning and ratcheting him up so he’s folded over at an acute angle, his upper body braced on the wall facing the ground and ass sloped upward. The sharpness with which he’s handled and the low angle of his torso makes his head swim in disorientation once again, causing the walls and pavement to swivel wildly around him. His heart races when he feels Hijikata’s thumbs hook into the waistband of his trousers and jerk them down to his thighs.
The Earth continues to tumble below him as Gintoki swings his head up to look back over his shoulder right in time to see Hijikata lower his saliva-slicked hand down to his ass. Hot and wet, fingers glide over his entrance sending swells of euphoria pulsing throughout his entire body. Gintoki thinks he could just about die. Or cum.
It’s so much… and yet not.
He cants his hips up in desperation to meet Hijikata’s kneading fingers and without meaning to, they slip in. Like nothing. …It shouldn’t be that easy. It should take at least some effort; yet where Hijikata’s fingers should meet resistance they find only a soft, slack hole. The Amanto’s pollen isn’t so different from VCR cleaner after all, albeit a hell of a lot more potent.
Somewhere behind him, he hears Hijikata whisper obscenities but his brain makes no effort to process it, overwhelmed as he is with the sudden fullness of three fingers in his ass. Finally, finally something substantial. Something to slake the yawning void growing within him. They slide effortlessly in and out, first slow, but quickly picking up speed and depth. Without warning they curl forward inside him, pads pressing firmly along his inner walls as they rub into him, hitting his sweet spot over and over without mercy.
In an instant, molten pleasure rockets through him from his toes up through his entire body, burning him up from the inside. Muscles contort and spasm beyond his control and Hijikata’s fingers don’t stop. They keep pumping. Fingertips massage his prostate in short, punishing bursts, pushing Gintoki into overstimulation, pleasure mixing with exquisite agony. His first orgasm—in its wake, a hot rush of clear fluid overflows from his already oozing cock; not cum, but not nothing either.
It leaves him shaking and faint, very nearly losing his grip on the wall. A hand, one of Hijikata’s, stabilizes him as it comes down to clasp around his mouth in a feckless attempt to silence the harsh whimpering cries Gintoki doesn’t even realize he’s making. His lucidity, however fragile it was before, is shattered to nothing.
He can, however, sense the blunt head of Hijikata’s cock as it enters him. Half because of the delicious, full stretch it’s giving him and half because of the stars bursting in his eyes as it grazes his prostate on the way in. His eyes tilt back in his head as Hijikata’s hips push forward. He tries rocking in time with the thrusts as they drop into him, but it’s next to useless. He’s like a ragdoll, held in both arms by Hijikata: one smothering his mouth and the other hooked around his thick waist, hiking him up to keep him aligned and ready to accept Hijikata’s dick as it plows into him.
This is the fullness he’s been craving. He feels it radiate from the depths of his being. Hot, buzzing, perfect in its desolation. With each inelegant slam of Hijikata’s cock, he feels closer to how he was always meant to be:
Receptive.
Submissive.
Full.
The pollen has kidnapped Gintoki’s sanity and thrown it down an oubliette to perish. His back arches in Hijikata’s arm, succumbing utterly to the unrelenting waves of pleasure as they crash over him. Each hard stroke exerting pressure on his insides like electric shocks to his system.
Giving up trying to suppress Gintoki’s moaning, Hijikata’s hand releases from atop Gintoki’s mouth and instead slips four fingers inside, inciting yet more guttural noises from within him as they tamp down on his tongue. Each whine and wanton groan adds to the cacophony echoing around the lot, joining Hijikata’s incoherent yammering and the deafening squelches and smacks of their flesh colliding.
He’s stuffed blissfully full at both ends and yet still wants for more. His tremoring hand reaches underneath him and paws haphazardly at the aching cock swinging uselessly between his legs. He needs friction. He needs release, but his hand won’t obey the animal urge to touch himself. Proprioception has left him along with his balance and intelligence, thus it’s only by sheer luck that his hand eventually finds its way to his dick. Desperately, he wills his fingers to bend into a loose fist and lets the inertia of Hijikata’s thrusts do the rest of the work for him, bucking him into his hand. A few passes is all it takes to drive him off the edge.
It’s so much—more than it has any right to be—as another orgasm avalanches in to him. Just as powerful as before, he crumbles into the mammoth sensation that threatens to engulf him. At the zenith of his pleasure, the pressure and heat building in his abdomen empty out in his release like a dam bursting and hot ropes of cum paint the front of his pants and ground below in milky white. He sobs out his frustration and ecstasy in heaving breaths as he unravels, slumping in Hijikata’s arms.
Outside of his awareness, Hijikata follows, finding his own bliss in the trembling body below him.
Thirty-five thousand measly yen is the reward for all the hardship he’s been through. The wild goose chase, the pollen, the agony and humiliation. Accounting for Kagura’s perpetually empty stomach, it’s worth less than a week of groceries.
Gintoki grumbles as he snatches the notes from the old man, making sure that both he and the idiot prince get an eyeful of the homicidal gleam he’s sending their way. He’s calling it now: never again will the Yorozuya accept a job from these Amanto nut jobs. Next time, they can keep the biohazardous monsters they call pets and their money.
He’s just about to proclaim this new addition to his official business policy (a thing that definitely exists) when his eyes catch on an unfamiliar card in his ordinarily barren wallet. Curious, he stuffs the notes inside and shuffles off without so much as a ‘fuck you’ to his satisfied customers and examines the card.
Nothing spectacular, just an ordinary, plain white business card with… the Shinsengumi seal on it? He flips it over and lifts it to read the small print on the reverse side, revealing three short lines of text, two typed and one hand written: a name, a cell phone number, and a message worth far more than 35,000 yen.