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scriveynerTitle: samflam_69min: Desperation
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 1865
Summary:
It had been a near miss.
It had been a near miss, and those happened sometimes. It was something that was drilled into him, taught at the academy; that even stationed in a good part of town where you helped people who were lost and take reports on pickpockets and minor disturbances things could still happen. And things did happen … when Masayoshi was around things happened in spades.
Masayoshi didn’t seem to notice the near misses. He would laugh, costume torn or singed, holding the scuffed helmet in his hand and rubbing his head sheepishly as if that would make everything okay again, as if that would make the cold knot of worry unclench from his lungs and allow him to breathe freely again.
This time, though - this time they’d come after Masayoshi specifically, it was a trap to draw out Samurai Flamenco. Everyone knew who Masayoshi was now, to the point where he had to specifically wear a cap and glasses out just to go to the conbini with Gotou - it seemed almost ludicrous that someone would go to such lengths but Gotou was now long-accustomed to the fact that things just didn’t happen normally around Masayoshi. He’d been promised peace - but that was from the wacky and almost comical villain-of-the-week type of bad guy. The entire world didn’t subscribe to Masayoshi’s worldview, and most things - including crime - had returned to its pre-Samurai Flamenco status quo.
The attackers didn’t take into account that Masayoshi had long since picked up actual fighting skills - and they didn’t expect for Gotou to be there with him, on the last foot patrol of the evening before his shift was over. They had been arguing about something stupid that he couldn’t even remember now - and then they were being rushed by men in bandanas wielding large and wicked knives.
Even once the men were soundly defeated Gotou’s heart kept going, beating like a jackhammer. Masayoshi didn’t seem concerned, after all, fighting even unexpected bad guys was part and parcel of being a toku hero - but Gotou’s hands couldn’t stop shaking. He’d made his report, the arrested men were carted away, and when they finally made their way home, Masayoshi realized Gotou had a dried streak of blood in his hair where he had gotten sliced and hadn’t even noticed, in all the commotion.
It had always been like this, ever since he had known Masayoshi. He’d bailed Masayoshi out of trouble more times than he could count; he watched Masayoshi on television fighting monsters that were almost beyond comprehension - he’d seen so many things that were just patently ridiculous that he didn’t understand why idiots with knives rattled him so.
“We’ll get showers and maybe go out for dinner,” Masayoshi said, his voice as light and cheerful as ever. Gotou heeled off his shoes, kicked them aside and watched Masayoshi walk ahead of him into the apartment. He was wearing just a hooded sweatshirt zipped over the costume, his pants had torn trying to get them off and he was carrying them in a plastic bag. It was an incongruous image, a superhero in a hoodie and track shoes over a bodysuit - but again, it was Masayoshi.
Gotou closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Masayoshi hesitated, one hand on the doorknob to the bathroom, and looked back at him. “Gotou-san?” he asked.
He meant to respond, tell Masayoshi that he was fine - it was just another night, but it wasn’t really, was it? He started when Masayoshi’s hand touched his face, Gotou’s eyes shot open and Masayoshi was right there, in front of him, brow furrowed in concern. Gotou hadn’t even summoned up the words when Masayoshi’s gloved hand brushed up his jaw and back into his hair. “There’s blood,” he said suddenly. “Did you get hurt?”
Gotou knocked away Masayoshi’s hand with his own, running it back through his hair - and found to his surprise that his hair was matted close to his head, tacky with half-dried blood. “I’m fine,” he said, surprised. It didn’t even sting….
Masayoshi turned his head and frowned, fingers gently probing the area. “I think you just got nicked,” he said, one hand on Gotou’s jaw to keep him still. His voice sounded strange to Gotou, not quite the regular cheerful tone. “It doesn’t look that bad, it’s already stopped bleeding.”
“I just need a shower to rinse it off.” Gotou swallowed, put his hand around Masayoshi’s wrist and tugged it away from his face. The blood felt hot in his veins every time Masayoshi touched him, he could barely stand it. Masayoshi was staring at him, concern etched on his features and Gotou knew exactly how close they both had been tonight - a misstep in the wrong direction - it didn’t even bear thinking about.
The adrenaline should have long since worn off - Gotou felt suddenly lightheaded. Had he smoked on the walk home? Maybe a cigarette to calm him down - but Masayoshi was right there, dirty and scuffed up and still in his costume - and his hand was still on Masayoshi’s wrist, held between them.
Masayoshi’s pulse, through the thin material of his glove, beating quickly, was as hot as his own.
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said softly, and wet his lips.
The tension between them was a physical, palpable thing - and Gotou couldn’t take it, the last shred of his self-control went like a broken guitar string. He shoved Masayoshi into the wall beside the bathroom door - Masayoshi went limp, absorbed the impact, but he didn’t look surprised or scared by Gotou. He doesn’t stop him, doesn’t cave in - and when Gotou’s drew in close he met the fury of Gotou’s mouth head on and kept going.
They’d been here before, shared kisses and flushed expressions - Masayoshi looking away demurely and Gotou laughing, not quite piss-in-the-wind drunk - but this is different. Masayoshi doesn’t turn his face away when they part, he doesn’t back down from Gotou’s gaze, hands curled into tight fists, the material of Gotou’s shirt clutched tight between them. There is something dangerous here, coiled between them in this moment - and Gotou throws his caution to the wind and kisses Masayoshi again.
Masayoshi kisses like he is drowning, like Gotou is the last source of air left, like everything in his lungs is now Masayoshi’s sole property. He’s not sure when or how Masayoshi got so talented with his tongue - but all their little shared kisses add up, and Gotou’s mouth travels, doesn’t stay in one place and Masayoshi makes a noise that Gotou has never heard before when his mouth presses to Masayoshi’s neck.
This was really happening, right now.
Masayoshi’s hands plucked at the buttons of his dress shirt, and Gotou lifted his head, breathing hard. Masayoshi’s suit covered most of his available skin, they were going to need to do something about that. As if sensing Gotou’s train of thought, Masayoshi said, his voice heavy in a way Gotou had only heard a few times - “I’m dirty, we should - I should shower-”
“I’m dirty too,” Gotou said, not wanting to give up this, this moment between them. The ache had built in his chest and lower now. “I don’t care.” He rubbed Masayoshi’s cheek with his palm, personal space all but eliminated between them. They’d had sex before, but this - something had broken in him, he felt like a pitcher left under a running tap, brimming over with emotion and need in this moment.
He tilted his face into Masayoshi’s neck, breathed the word into his skin. “Please.” I need this. I need you.
Masayoshi’s gloved hand moved to his hair, the other to his back. He let out a low noise, something almost primal. “Okay,” he said finally, acquiesced - he swallowed as Gotou lifted his head and licked his lips.
“Okay,” Gotou responded, and pulled him away from the wall.
#
Getting Masayoshi out of his costume was not as difficult as Gotou thought - but this was the bodysuit, it barely had any padding and no armor. His heart jumped at how little protection there was between Masayoshi and the world; he wanted to wrap around Masayoshi, keep him safe - but that wasn’t what Masayoshi wanted. That was his own selfish desire, he knew it - it was hard to tamp down but he could at least distract it with the thought of bared skin and Masayoshi, writhing under his hands, costume in a puddle on the floor somewhere with most of Gotou’s clothes scattered around it.
There was sweat in Masayoshi’s hair, it caught in the light when he thrashed his head, raised his arm to smack at Gotou’s leg and missed, whiffing into the sheets instead. Gotou grabbed his arm when he raised it again and pinned it to the mattress. “Stop it,” Masayoshi breathed, and twisted under him. “Stop teasing, it’s not fair-”
Gotou slid up the bed, offered a kiss by way of apology - Masayoshi wrenched his wrist free and wrapped his arms over Gotou’s shoulders. “You really want me to stop?” Gotou asked, breath heavy with the taste of Masayoshi’s skin, and Masayoshi shifted beneath him and scowled - then cuffed Gotou in the head.
“No,” he said petulantly.
“Ow!” Gotou said, but Masayoshi shifted underneath him, changed the angle of his hips and Gotou’s breath caught in his throat. He forgot his momentary lapse of anger in that same heartbeat. “You-” he said instead, and Masayoshi breathed out a noise of annoyance at his inaction.
“Do I have to do everything?” he said, and bucked. Gotou let out a low groan and pushed himself up, settling Masayoshi against him, lifting higher and moving deeper and he grinned at the happy, choked-off noise that came from Masayoshi. He watched as Masayoshi tilted his head back, eyes sliding closed, hands pulling the sheet off the bed and his heart sang for it.
Shit, he had it bad.
#
“That was intense,” Masayoshi said, his eyes still closed. He was laying not quite on his back, and Gotou looked up, leaning over the edge of the bed to fish his cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans. Masayoshi cracked an eye open, watching Gotou suspiciously. “What brought that on?”
Gotou hesitated, then rolled back onto the bed, his cigarettes in hand. “It’s-” he stared at the pack in his hand, and then his eyes were drawn to Masayoshi as Masayoshi plucked the carton from his hand and proceeded to throw it across the room. “-hey, what the HELL-!”
“No smoking in bed,” Masayoshi poked him in the shoulder. “Do you know what percentage of apartment fires are caused by people falling asleep while smoking?”
“No, and I’m reasonably sure that you don’t, either.” He pinched the nearest expanse of flesh to him, which was Masayoshi’s arm. “I’m not going to fall asleep smoking, idiot.”
“We just had really intense sex, you’re totally going to fall asleep.” Masayoshi poked him in the shoulder again. “You should go out and bring back some dinner.”
Gotou batted at his hand ineffectively. “What happened to us going out to eat?”
Instead of poking him, Masayoshi rolled up on his side and gave Gotou the most exasperated stare. “Do you really think I’m going to walk anywhere after that?” he said matter-of-fact, and Gotou’s face went beet red.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, worriedly - and Masayoshi shoved him in the shoulder.
“I’m hungry, go get us some food,” he said. Gotou yelped a little, rolled out of bed, and Masayoshi pillowed his head on his arm, grinning, as Gotou hauled himself to his feet. “You didn’t hurt me,” he added, and dragged himself into a seated position with only a mild wince. “Gotou-san.”
Gotou paused beside the bed, a pair of underwear in one hand - and Masayoshi caught his wrist and looked up at him. “You really didn’t,” he said, and he smiled for Gotou. Gotou dropped his underwear on the bed and leaned down, turned Masayoshi’s head up and kissed him again. After a moment, Masayoshi started smacking his back with his hand. “I’m hungry,” he complained when they parted. “Go bring us food, then after maybe I’ll let you fuck me again.”
He almost tripped trying to put his pants on.
Fandom: Samurai Flamenco
Characters/Pairing: Gotou/Masayoshi
Rating: NSFW/E
Length: 1865
Summary:
It had been a near miss.
It had been a near miss, and those happened sometimes. It was something that was drilled into him, taught at the academy; that even stationed in a good part of town where you helped people who were lost and take reports on pickpockets and minor disturbances things could still happen. And things did happen … when Masayoshi was around things happened in spades.
Masayoshi didn’t seem to notice the near misses. He would laugh, costume torn or singed, holding the scuffed helmet in his hand and rubbing his head sheepishly as if that would make everything okay again, as if that would make the cold knot of worry unclench from his lungs and allow him to breathe freely again.
This time, though - this time they’d come after Masayoshi specifically, it was a trap to draw out Samurai Flamenco. Everyone knew who Masayoshi was now, to the point where he had to specifically wear a cap and glasses out just to go to the conbini with Gotou - it seemed almost ludicrous that someone would go to such lengths but Gotou was now long-accustomed to the fact that things just didn’t happen normally around Masayoshi. He’d been promised peace - but that was from the wacky and almost comical villain-of-the-week type of bad guy. The entire world didn’t subscribe to Masayoshi’s worldview, and most things - including crime - had returned to its pre-Samurai Flamenco status quo.
The attackers didn’t take into account that Masayoshi had long since picked up actual fighting skills - and they didn’t expect for Gotou to be there with him, on the last foot patrol of the evening before his shift was over. They had been arguing about something stupid that he couldn’t even remember now - and then they were being rushed by men in bandanas wielding large and wicked knives.
Even once the men were soundly defeated Gotou’s heart kept going, beating like a jackhammer. Masayoshi didn’t seem concerned, after all, fighting even unexpected bad guys was part and parcel of being a toku hero - but Gotou’s hands couldn’t stop shaking. He’d made his report, the arrested men were carted away, and when they finally made their way home, Masayoshi realized Gotou had a dried streak of blood in his hair where he had gotten sliced and hadn’t even noticed, in all the commotion.
It had always been like this, ever since he had known Masayoshi. He’d bailed Masayoshi out of trouble more times than he could count; he watched Masayoshi on television fighting monsters that were almost beyond comprehension - he’d seen so many things that were just patently ridiculous that he didn’t understand why idiots with knives rattled him so.
“We’ll get showers and maybe go out for dinner,” Masayoshi said, his voice as light and cheerful as ever. Gotou heeled off his shoes, kicked them aside and watched Masayoshi walk ahead of him into the apartment. He was wearing just a hooded sweatshirt zipped over the costume, his pants had torn trying to get them off and he was carrying them in a plastic bag. It was an incongruous image, a superhero in a hoodie and track shoes over a bodysuit - but again, it was Masayoshi.
Gotou closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Masayoshi hesitated, one hand on the doorknob to the bathroom, and looked back at him. “Gotou-san?” he asked.
He meant to respond, tell Masayoshi that he was fine - it was just another night, but it wasn’t really, was it? He started when Masayoshi’s hand touched his face, Gotou’s eyes shot open and Masayoshi was right there, in front of him, brow furrowed in concern. Gotou hadn’t even summoned up the words when Masayoshi’s gloved hand brushed up his jaw and back into his hair. “There’s blood,” he said suddenly. “Did you get hurt?”
Gotou knocked away Masayoshi’s hand with his own, running it back through his hair - and found to his surprise that his hair was matted close to his head, tacky with half-dried blood. “I’m fine,” he said, surprised. It didn’t even sting….
Masayoshi turned his head and frowned, fingers gently probing the area. “I think you just got nicked,” he said, one hand on Gotou’s jaw to keep him still. His voice sounded strange to Gotou, not quite the regular cheerful tone. “It doesn’t look that bad, it’s already stopped bleeding.”
“I just need a shower to rinse it off.” Gotou swallowed, put his hand around Masayoshi’s wrist and tugged it away from his face. The blood felt hot in his veins every time Masayoshi touched him, he could barely stand it. Masayoshi was staring at him, concern etched on his features and Gotou knew exactly how close they both had been tonight - a misstep in the wrong direction - it didn’t even bear thinking about.
The adrenaline should have long since worn off - Gotou felt suddenly lightheaded. Had he smoked on the walk home? Maybe a cigarette to calm him down - but Masayoshi was right there, dirty and scuffed up and still in his costume - and his hand was still on Masayoshi’s wrist, held between them.
Masayoshi’s pulse, through the thin material of his glove, beating quickly, was as hot as his own.
“Gotou-san,” Masayoshi said softly, and wet his lips.
The tension between them was a physical, palpable thing - and Gotou couldn’t take it, the last shred of his self-control went like a broken guitar string. He shoved Masayoshi into the wall beside the bathroom door - Masayoshi went limp, absorbed the impact, but he didn’t look surprised or scared by Gotou. He doesn’t stop him, doesn’t cave in - and when Gotou’s drew in close he met the fury of Gotou’s mouth head on and kept going.
They’d been here before, shared kisses and flushed expressions - Masayoshi looking away demurely and Gotou laughing, not quite piss-in-the-wind drunk - but this is different. Masayoshi doesn’t turn his face away when they part, he doesn’t back down from Gotou’s gaze, hands curled into tight fists, the material of Gotou’s shirt clutched tight between them. There is something dangerous here, coiled between them in this moment - and Gotou throws his caution to the wind and kisses Masayoshi again.
Masayoshi kisses like he is drowning, like Gotou is the last source of air left, like everything in his lungs is now Masayoshi’s sole property. He’s not sure when or how Masayoshi got so talented with his tongue - but all their little shared kisses add up, and Gotou’s mouth travels, doesn’t stay in one place and Masayoshi makes a noise that Gotou has never heard before when his mouth presses to Masayoshi’s neck.
This was really happening, right now.
Masayoshi’s hands plucked at the buttons of his dress shirt, and Gotou lifted his head, breathing hard. Masayoshi’s suit covered most of his available skin, they were going to need to do something about that. As if sensing Gotou’s train of thought, Masayoshi said, his voice heavy in a way Gotou had only heard a few times - “I’m dirty, we should - I should shower-”
“I’m dirty too,” Gotou said, not wanting to give up this, this moment between them. The ache had built in his chest and lower now. “I don’t care.” He rubbed Masayoshi’s cheek with his palm, personal space all but eliminated between them. They’d had sex before, but this - something had broken in him, he felt like a pitcher left under a running tap, brimming over with emotion and need in this moment.
He tilted his face into Masayoshi’s neck, breathed the word into his skin. “Please.” I need this. I need you.
Masayoshi’s gloved hand moved to his hair, the other to his back. He let out a low noise, something almost primal. “Okay,” he said finally, acquiesced - he swallowed as Gotou lifted his head and licked his lips.
“Okay,” Gotou responded, and pulled him away from the wall.
Getting Masayoshi out of his costume was not as difficult as Gotou thought - but this was the bodysuit, it barely had any padding and no armor. His heart jumped at how little protection there was between Masayoshi and the world; he wanted to wrap around Masayoshi, keep him safe - but that wasn’t what Masayoshi wanted. That was his own selfish desire, he knew it - it was hard to tamp down but he could at least distract it with the thought of bared skin and Masayoshi, writhing under his hands, costume in a puddle on the floor somewhere with most of Gotou’s clothes scattered around it.
There was sweat in Masayoshi’s hair, it caught in the light when he thrashed his head, raised his arm to smack at Gotou’s leg and missed, whiffing into the sheets instead. Gotou grabbed his arm when he raised it again and pinned it to the mattress. “Stop it,” Masayoshi breathed, and twisted under him. “Stop teasing, it’s not fair-”
Gotou slid up the bed, offered a kiss by way of apology - Masayoshi wrenched his wrist free and wrapped his arms over Gotou’s shoulders. “You really want me to stop?” Gotou asked, breath heavy with the taste of Masayoshi’s skin, and Masayoshi shifted beneath him and scowled - then cuffed Gotou in the head.
“No,” he said petulantly.
“Ow!” Gotou said, but Masayoshi shifted underneath him, changed the angle of his hips and Gotou’s breath caught in his throat. He forgot his momentary lapse of anger in that same heartbeat. “You-” he said instead, and Masayoshi breathed out a noise of annoyance at his inaction.
“Do I have to do everything?” he said, and bucked. Gotou let out a low groan and pushed himself up, settling Masayoshi against him, lifting higher and moving deeper and he grinned at the happy, choked-off noise that came from Masayoshi. He watched as Masayoshi tilted his head back, eyes sliding closed, hands pulling the sheet off the bed and his heart sang for it.
Shit, he had it bad.
“That was intense,” Masayoshi said, his eyes still closed. He was laying not quite on his back, and Gotou looked up, leaning over the edge of the bed to fish his cigarettes from the pocket of his jeans. Masayoshi cracked an eye open, watching Gotou suspiciously. “What brought that on?”
Gotou hesitated, then rolled back onto the bed, his cigarettes in hand. “It’s-” he stared at the pack in his hand, and then his eyes were drawn to Masayoshi as Masayoshi plucked the carton from his hand and proceeded to throw it across the room. “-hey, what the HELL-!”
“No smoking in bed,” Masayoshi poked him in the shoulder. “Do you know what percentage of apartment fires are caused by people falling asleep while smoking?”
“No, and I’m reasonably sure that you don’t, either.” He pinched the nearest expanse of flesh to him, which was Masayoshi’s arm. “I’m not going to fall asleep smoking, idiot.”
“We just had really intense sex, you’re totally going to fall asleep.” Masayoshi poked him in the shoulder again. “You should go out and bring back some dinner.”
Gotou batted at his hand ineffectively. “What happened to us going out to eat?”
Instead of poking him, Masayoshi rolled up on his side and gave Gotou the most exasperated stare. “Do you really think I’m going to walk anywhere after that?” he said matter-of-fact, and Gotou’s face went beet red.
“Did I hurt you?” he asked, worriedly - and Masayoshi shoved him in the shoulder.
“I’m hungry, go get us some food,” he said. Gotou yelped a little, rolled out of bed, and Masayoshi pillowed his head on his arm, grinning, as Gotou hauled himself to his feet. “You didn’t hurt me,” he added, and dragged himself into a seated position with only a mild wince. “Gotou-san.”
Gotou paused beside the bed, a pair of underwear in one hand - and Masayoshi caught his wrist and looked up at him. “You really didn’t,” he said, and he smiled for Gotou. Gotou dropped his underwear on the bed and leaned down, turned Masayoshi’s head up and kissed him again. After a moment, Masayoshi started smacking his back with his hand. “I’m hungry,” he complained when they parted. “Go bring us food, then after maybe I’ll let you fuck me again.”
He almost tripped trying to put his pants on.
