...somehow I looked at the pic again and this happened. Which I am totally blaming on you! :P (I don't even write PWP. What the heck, Gin-san? >.>)
Gintoki's still not entirely clear on how this happened--putting aside the matter of crossing alternate universes, the last time he ended up in a love hotel was enough to make him vow off the establishments until the end of history--but the mattress is soft and the satin sheets feel like liquid cream and to hell with vows or common sense or comics decency laws.
Curly silver hair tickles his belly as his double slides lower, wet lips better than the sheets against his skin. "You know, I don't usually do this," Gintoki remarks idly, tucking his hand behind his head as he looks up at the mirrored ceiling--two times two makes four identical reflections, all sexy as sin if he says so himself. "With guys, I mean."
"With guys, right," his double snorts, and Gintoki opens his mouth to protest that disbelieving sarcasm, defend his reputation as a virile shounen hero. Then he remembers who he's talking to and shuts it again. He's never been one to lie to himself, not really.
And this really isn't his usual thing, but it's not a bad way to waste an afternoon. "Yeah," Gintoki groans as his double finally gets to where he was going. He shuts his eyes and arches his back, thrusting up into that hot mouth, and then there's two minutes of solid awesome--what the hell kind of school does this guy teach at, anyway?--that ends without warning about ten seconds before he comes.
"The hell?" Gintoki complains, lifting his head to peer down there.
"My jaw's getting sore," his double says in a matching whine. "And the chocolate sauce is gone."
"So put more on."
"But the bottle's way over there." His double flops down on the bed, head on Gintoki's stomach, chin digging in when he speaks. "You do me now."
Gintoki tries to kick him in his silver-permed head but the angle's all wrong. "You can't just leave me hanging like this. That's self-abuse."
"Then what's ignoring me, huh? Don't I have needs, too?"
"I'll show you needs," Gintoki says, twisting out from under his double and flipping him over as he does to straddle him, pinning his shoulders to the mattress.
His own face gazes back up at him, indistinguishable without the glasses, red eyes heavy-lidded and mouth shiny and sticky with mostly licked-off chocolate sauce. "Yeah," his double says, lifting his hips so their groins grind together, sweaty hot friction, "that's it. You do the work."
"Why the hell should I?" Gintoki says, and drops his head to taste the last of those chocolate smears. The salt-sweat flavor of the lips underneath isn't bad, either, and his mouth doesn't taste like the ash tray Gintoki expected--he can't always be smoking lollipops, but maybe what's in those cigarettes isn't tobacco, either. It'd explain how he could get through a school day.
Same face, but his double's body is softer, padded belly and no sword hilt callouses on the hands skimming down his biceps. Maybe it's weird how that's hot, but it doesn't stop it from being hot. Hot enough to make him almost want to do something, even, take the effort for once, with someone who'd know him too well to expect a repeat performance, even if they ever did cross over again. "Aw, fuck me," Gintoki says.
"Exactly," his double says, smirking like the lazy obnoxious son of a bitch they both are, and drags him closer.
eheheheh you were saying?
Gintoki's still not entirely clear on how this happened--putting aside the matter of crossing alternate universes, the last time he ended up in a love hotel was enough to make him vow off the establishments until the end of history--but the mattress is soft and the satin sheets feel like liquid cream and to hell with vows or common sense or comics decency laws.
Curly silver hair tickles his belly as his double slides lower, wet lips better than the sheets against his skin. "You know, I don't usually do this," Gintoki remarks idly, tucking his hand behind his head as he looks up at the mirrored ceiling--two times two makes four identical reflections, all sexy as sin if he says so himself. "With guys, I mean."
"With guys, right," his double snorts, and Gintoki opens his mouth to protest that disbelieving sarcasm, defend his reputation as a virile shounen hero. Then he remembers who he's talking to and shuts it again. He's never been one to lie to himself, not really.
And this really isn't his usual thing, but it's not a bad way to waste an afternoon. "Yeah," Gintoki groans as his double finally gets to where he was going. He shuts his eyes and arches his back, thrusting up into that hot mouth, and then there's two minutes of solid awesome--what the hell kind of school does this guy teach at, anyway?--that ends without warning about ten seconds before he comes.
"The hell?" Gintoki complains, lifting his head to peer down there.
"My jaw's getting sore," his double says in a matching whine. "And the chocolate sauce is gone."
"So put more on."
"But the bottle's way over there." His double flops down on the bed, head on Gintoki's stomach, chin digging in when he speaks. "You do me now."
Gintoki tries to kick him in his silver-permed head but the angle's all wrong. "You can't just leave me hanging like this. That's self-abuse."
"Then what's ignoring me, huh? Don't I have needs, too?"
"I'll show you needs," Gintoki says, twisting out from under his double and flipping him over as he does to straddle him, pinning his shoulders to the mattress.
His own face gazes back up at him, indistinguishable without the glasses, red eyes heavy-lidded and mouth shiny and sticky with mostly licked-off chocolate sauce. "Yeah," his double says, lifting his hips so their groins grind together, sweaty hot friction, "that's it. You do the work."
"Why the hell should I?" Gintoki says, and drops his head to taste the last of those chocolate smears. The salt-sweat flavor of the lips underneath isn't bad, either, and his mouth doesn't taste like the ash tray Gintoki expected--he can't always be smoking lollipops, but maybe what's in those cigarettes isn't tobacco, either. It'd explain how he could get through a school day.
Same face, but his double's body is softer, padded belly and no sword hilt callouses on the hands skimming down his biceps. Maybe it's weird how that's hot, but it doesn't stop it from being hot. Hot enough to make him almost want to do something, even, take the effort for once, with someone who'd know him too well to expect a repeat performance, even if they ever did cross over again. "Aw, fuck me," Gintoki says.
"Exactly," his double says, smirking like the lazy obnoxious son of a bitch they both are, and drags him closer.