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Sougo pulls his wrist back to give a tug; the leash is taut, stubborn and unwilling like the man in front of him, below him. He studies Gintoki with his usual blank expression, but he can feel the strain of extra effort it takes to keep a grin from creeping onto his face.
This thing that they have, Sougo can admit that it's developed into something he never would have expected. The Yorozuya boss was initially a mystery; without knowing him, the sort of man to catch one's eye, with unique features that upon first glance might provoke thoughts of a noble background. With a second glance (and all of those thereafter), however, Gintoki's lack of tidiness and the uncouth way he carries himself quickly eliminates any such speculations.
Not that Sougo cares either way.
He'd first gotten to know Gintoki mainly through his bumbling addict of a superior—Hijikata's consistent failures at not being baited into a pissing contest with Gintoki, unsurprisingly, are often witnessed by Sougo. And sure enough, his interest had inevitably grown through his role as a third party viewer, sometimes an impassive participant, of their ridiculousness. Seeing Gintoki openly mock and berate Hijikata is comical—amusing—his presence always makes Hijikata's humiliation leagues worse than usual.
As it should be, if you'd ask him.
But slowly, surely, his attention began to shift from the joy in watching Hijikata wail out complaints and suffer, to the way Gintoki would laugh, yell, attempt to degrade as usual—all directed towards Hijikata, never towards himself, even with his consistency in being nearby.
How curious.
Sougo can very clearly remember the time he handcuffed his vice chief and the boss together; all of which had resulted in practically no consequences on his end.
From then on, it’s become unquestionable that his own actions have worked in his favor here—branded by all as a sadist with almost no exceptions; and Gintoki has met the only woman—Mitsuba—who thinks any differently of him. In the eyes of his sister, the boss is his dear friend, his best friend even. Sougo considers that declaration to uphold the smallest amount of genuineness.
What he sees before him now, however, is far from what he would ever do with a friend.
From his own perspective, Gintoki is less than a friend, and more…someone pleasant to see on occasion. Someone who, as he’s discovered, craves a specific type of attention that Sougo has come to consistently, earnestly enjoy delivering to him. When he thinks back to his first thoughts of the older man—a silver perm-head, the boss of the Yorozuya, an infamous jouishishi, the Shiroyasha— he also never would have imagined that he would be so desperate to receive, to take pleasure in such treatment.
Upon further inspection, it almost makes too much sense that his first impressions had so easily been proven wrong. The front of sadism expressed by Gintoki is just that, a front, and Sougo, infallible to his buffoonery, had easily dissected it.
Gintoki, in all his glory, is currently collared. Sougo had watched him hook the leather strap onto himself before being handed back the leash. The rest, Sougo had done himself: the ball gag in Gintoki's mouth, wrapped snug around the back of his head, the now half-stripped yukata and open black shirt…the pushing Gintoki to his knees, the tugging at the leash to hold him in place.
“Danna. You know what will happen to your hands if you don't keep them still.”
Impassively, Sougo watches him squirm for just a moment longer, his eyes drawn to a brief, shining reflection of light in some of the loose drool that's made it past the gag in Gintoki's mouth. The same gag that has been keeping him pleasantly quiet thus far, that is until Sougo reaches down to slowly unclasp its hooks. Gintoki spits it out with a low grunt.
“Okita-kun—” he manages his name in a single, labored breath, and it doesn't sound anywhere near as casual as it usually does coming from him, but Sougo isn't at all in the mood for letting Gintoki continue. He reaches forward to grab his jaw, and squeezes until it's painful enough to shut Gintoki up.
It always starts like this; futile protests from Gintoki that Sougo knows he only attempts with in order to keep some shred of his nonexistent dignity as a protagonist, or whatever similarly on-brand thing he'd yelled out the first time they’d done this. Of course, there's a bit more to it than that; namely Gintoki not wanting to vocalize that he actually wants this (that he's depraved enough to like this), possibly more than Sougo does.
Sougo yanks at the leash as he silently crouches down and leans forward to speak into Gintoki's ear. At the same time he catches Gintoki’s body weight.
“Danna...” he starts again, quietly, “when I stand up again, you'll make your mouth more useful than that.”
Perhaps the best part of all this is the feeling that courses through him, simply knowing that Gintoki is desperately holding onto his every word, knowing that Gintoki is ultimately going to listen…and then watching him do just that.
Seconds later, large hands are desperately, eagerly reaching forward, unzipping and tugging down the black trousers of his uniform just enough.
Gintoki doesn't open his mouth to speak this time, instead his lips part to silently take in the head of Sougo's cock, and Sougo, as he always has since the start of this arrangement, savors the moment to the fullest. He briefly halts his foremost thoughts to fully capture the sight, the feeling, of Gintoki's reddened face and his pink lips, glossed with drool, snug and warm and stretching around him.
Warmth has always looked good on Gintoki, he thinks.
Sougo wonders if Gintoki expects it when he suddenly yanks the leash forward once more, if Gintoki knows that he's only being fed an illusion of debasing himself on his own terms, or if he had already figured out what Sougo was going to do as soon as he'd undone his zipper.
It's hard to tell with how Gintoki, just as harshly, jerks his head back after letting out an obscene gag.
But he’s too late to pull back all the way. Sougo's already sliding his free hand into Gintoki's hair, and the grip he fastens on the messy silver tufts is not a gentle one. Gintoki's face is no longer only red from any pointless embarrassment, and his eyes are already glistening with unshed tears. The older man looks reasonably frustrated for someone who always comes off as bored and unflappable. But even so, how is Sougo supposed to take him seriously with his cock in his mouth?
Red meets red for a brief moment, and then Sougo begins to move.
Repeatedly pulling his head forward, he begins to take Gintoki's mouth, his throat, with a deliberate roughness that starts to unravel the both of them. This isn't the first time this has happened, nor the last, and both of them know by now that this is only just the beginning.
Sougo bites back a groan as he tugs Gintoki's head forward once more, now moving his hips as well, and Gintoki responds predictably by jerking back again, barely suppressing another wet gag. It's when heaps of saliva are sliding down his chin that Sougo has to force himself to slow his movements, though he keeps him pulled forward, keeps his face stuffed while he instead lifts a foot and presses it down where he knows Gintoki's groin is.
Whatever Gintoki attempts to say is ignored, regardless of the fact that it's entirely unintelligible already, and Sougo briefly delights in the pathetic, half-assed struggle of the man squirming below him before he begins to apply pressure, grinding his foot down without remorse.
Gintoki, on the other hand, is already far gone. He's a mess from the stimulation—this isn't something he gets to feel very often; he hasn't touched a woman, (and rarely himself, with so little personal space at home) in months…since this arrangement with Sougo has started.
But since then, he hasn't needed to, nor has he felt any urge.
He's come to a point where he actively seeks this out, where he craves familiar fingers digging into his skin, throbbing bruises on his neck, back, thighs, everywhere. The weight of a collar around his neck, of a gag in his mouth, a slick plug stuffed up his ass, leaves him content in ways he never could have imagined.
Any conflicted feelings about all of this aside, and at this point there aren't many, Gin can somehow admit (to himself and himself alone) that he understands Sacchan’s character trope much better than he ever bothered to before.
Sougo's foot presses harder, and he can hardly contain the muffled, gargled moan that leaves him.
'Please.' He wants to say.
'Please what?' He knows Sougo would respond.
By now, Sougo doesn’t allow him to beg so lamely, and because he has expectations to meet in his position, they both know that doing so would warrant some degree of punishment if seen fit—
“...What is that?”
Much to his chagrin, the pressure on his crotch suddenly lessens, and Gintoki holds back any vulgar noises as Sougo's grip loosens on his hair and his head is slowly pulled back, leaving only a string of saliva stretching from his now swollen lips to Sougo's cock. Gintoki furrows his eyebrows.
His eye twitches at whatever could possibly be cause for interruption now–this is Gintama, but they're not on air now, damn it.
He can’t understand what would cause him to stop in a moment like this, at least. But Sougo clearly doesn't care.
He’s distracted by something.
And justifiably so. It would be rather...difficult for Sougo to simply ignore the sudden, though not entirely surprising, appearance of the bolded 1位 that's now floating above Gintoki's head. And after a quick glance upwards, the 2位 above his own.
Watching Gintoki’s face, Sougo feels like he can see the gears turning in his head. He stares, ignoring his hard, wet length in favor of pinpointing the moment that Gintoki, being Gintoki, begins to find humor in the situation. The sleaze in his slow growing grin makes Sougo want to continue, makes him want to silence Gintoki before he can even start…but he’s already stopped and asked, and he knows that Gintoki isn’t truly tameable. He always bites back, even when he knows he shouldn’t.
Sougo can always see as much in his half-lidded eyes, even after he’s played with him, tortured him with ecstasy, fucked him for hours on end, milked him for all he’s worth. Gintoki never lets himself go entirely. Perhaps that Sougo sees this as a challenge to overcome is part of why they keep meeting like this. It’s half the fun.
Gintoki pushes out an obnoxious laugh, still collared and leashed, still very much hard and with his cock smothered by Sougo's boot, and with Sougo blankly staring down at him— being Gintoki, he continues anyway.
“Ah, that’s today isn’t it? Well, it's only natural for the main character to be fan favorite, isn't that right, Okita-kun?”
He has an annoyingly smug tone in his voice that screams of his easily inflatable ego; Sougo wants to crush it (he knows he can’t, not permanently, but that’s never stopped him from trying), “I do get the most screen time, so really, try not to—”
The pressure on his groin increases again, and Sougo effectively cuts Gintoki off from any continued obnoxiousness by causing his throat to suddenly hitch. It’s followed by what sounds like an unintentional whimper. Gintoki’s thighs are visibly trembling, and seeing as much is enough for Sougo to finally let go of his impassive expression and smirk without a shred of guilt as he pushes his foot down much harder.
“Wasting the time of our viewers is the thing you do best, Danna, of course it’s only natural.” he says, just before he’s pulling at the leash again. This time, enough so Gintoki is now straining back against it to keep from being dragged forward.
“Well,” Sougo continues, mocking, “right after being a loose whore.”
Gintoki’s sleazy smile doesn’t fade, nor do his cheeks become any less flushed. And it’s not like Sougo needs any invitation to continue, but if he did he’d certainly take this as one.
Before he can get to it, however, Gintoki is again snarking back with the bravado of someone who doesn’t currently have a boot grinding against his cock, someone who doesn’t look like a collared bitch in heat. “Sounds like you’re upset about ranking second, Okita-kun. You’ll never win against me with such a rotten attitude, you know?”
Sougo is amused, but he doesn’t laugh. He has to remind himself that Gintoki knows just how insufferable he can be. That Gintoki has adapted to him too.
Instead, he thanks himself for deciding on the leash today, and proceeds to yank it upwards until it’s perfectly taut. He watches carefully, without blinking, as Gintoki scrambles to bring his hands up in a poor attempt to get the collar that’s now straining against his throat, hopefully constricting his windpipe, off of himself.
It’s to no avail, of course.
Sougo takes the chance to kick him in the stomach, and Gintoki keels forward with a groan. He doesn’t waste his time pushing his cock against Gintoki’s warm cheek.
“Hm. I don’t remember saying you could stop.”
The stupid smirk on Gintoki’s face is gone, and his typically beady pupils are now blown wide. Only a second later does he turn his head slightly to pathetically mouth at Sougo’s length. It’s painfully addictive to see Gintoki like this—to see him succumb to being used like the slut he is. Sougo couldn’t care less about ranking second when the both of them know what happens when they’re alone.
“Good boy,” he says flatly. His grip on the leash loosens, and he lets Gintoki have what he wants. He relishes in it, not daring to look away as Gintoki sucks and slurps at his length like a parched man in the desert finally finding an oasis.
Sougo nearly lets out a pitched sound of his own, covering it with strained breathing. He can’t help it; he’d have to be beyond insane not to find pleasure in this. Part of him wants to shoot his load all over Gintoki’s stupid, awestruck face, to find amusement in what the infamous Shiroyasha looks like dripping wet with cum. He’s done it before—it’s almost the best way to negate any nonsense that leaves Gintoki’s mouth.
But today he wants something else. He pushes in, holding himself flush against Gintoki’s face, making sure to shove into his throat as deep as he can, before he pulls out and uses the leash to yank him off completely. Gintoki sputters and coughs and Sougo feels nothing but heedy satisfaction coiling in his gut.
“You’ll keep it up, won’t you Danna? Come on. Stand up.” He orders, giving the leash some slack. This isn’t the most ideal place for this, but bumping into Gintoki wasn’t planned, not this time at least, and at least an empty warehouse in Kabuki District isn’t the worst place to be.
He watches Gintoki slowly rise and wipe his mouth on his sleeve before deciding he’s given him long enough of a break.
Sougo steps forward and shoves him against the nearest wall without hesitation, keeping one hand on the leash and using his other to press Gintoki’s face against the cool, flat surface.
“Misbehave and you know what happens,” Sougo breathes out, his own voice hushed, but no less firm. He makes it a point to take his time with stripping Gintoki’s trousers off, listening in satisfaction to the way his breathing shakes as he remains surprisingly silent. Sougo can’t yet tell if Gintoki is playing along because he wants to or if it’s because he’s finally strewn out and pliant after having his throat abused.
Either way, he won’t complain. One way or another, he’ll make sure he at least witnesses the ladder. After all, there are few things more rewarding than getting Gintoki to that state.
Sougo only yanks Gintoki’s trousers half down his thighs before he’s groping his ass with one hand. He slots himself comfortably behind Gintoki, his wet cock now snugly pressed against the warm flesh of the other man’s cheeks. For now, he lets go of the leash, and his other hand snakes up Gintoki’s torso to grip at his chest. Sougo sneers as he squeezes.
“Maybe this is why you ranked first?” His grip tightens, and he doesn’t miss the way Gintoki’s breath hitches. Sougo smirks. Catching and snaring Gintoki never has gotten old no matter how many times he does it. Temporary or not. “Always half out—you love when people stare, don’t you? You don’t even have to beg.”
Sougo’s fingers are nimble as he pushes Gintoki’s yukata down and spreads out the V of his shirt. The skin is warm, and Sougo can feel Gintoki’s heart pounding away in his chest. His digits glide across, over a few littered, old scars before stopping at Gintoki’s nipples.
“O-Okita—” Gintoki starts again.
But Sougo isn’t having any of that. He quickly takes both hard nubs between his index and his thumb before squeezing down harshly. Gintoki’s knees buckle, and Sougo holds in a giddy chuckle. This is what he likes to see. Each and every moment he can steal from Gintoki like so—each and every time he can make him choke and gasp and whimper in a perfect concoction of pain and pleasure.
“I know this is what you like.” Sougo squeezes again, and this time it draws a choked gasp from his suspecting victim. “Danna, you’re so dirty. What would everyone think?” Another squeeze. He rolls his fingers and even pulls, and before long Gintoki is a quivering mess, barely able to hold himself up between the wall in front of him and Sougo behind.
But that’s what Sougo is here for. To take him apart and keep him steady while he does so. It’s a shame that he can’t see Gintoki’s face in this position, but he imagines it well enough—he’s seen it before, after all. He knows his little pet is flushed and drooling, stupid just from having his tits fondled.
“Now,” Sougo says, abruptly pulling his hands from Gintoki’s chest. His gaze is impossibly sharp; he doesn’t dare miss the small, choked whine, the way Gintoki presses his hot forehead against the wall in defeat, in submission. Sougo licks his lips and continues, “touch them yourself. I’ve only got two hands…”
Two hands that he’ll need elsewhere. His fingers move down. Down Gintoki’s chiseled abdomen, down passed the crumpled fabric of his yukata to his hips, down until he’s got a hold on his exposed ass cheeks, already obediently sandwiched around his pulsing length.
For this part, Sougo spits.
This is an unexpected encounter, and he doesn’t carry lube around with him, unfortunately for Gintoki, but he’s positive he’ll take it just fine regardless. If he doesn’t, well that’s not exactly Sougo’s problem; Gintoki will be taking it either way.
He gives his cock a generous stroke before pulling his hips back, and slowly drags the tip up to Gintoki’s tight rim, teasing. Before anything else, however, he glances back up.
Surprisingly Gintoki has actually listened, and it’s certainly a sight to see.
Sougo can’t help himself this time. Imagining it isn’t enough. With one hand, he reaches for Gintoki’s hair, fingers sliding into silver tufts before he eagerly yanks his head to the side. And oh, it’s even better than he’d imagined.
While Gintoki’s hands dance at his chest, pinching and fondling and pulling at his own throbbing nipples, his face is an utter work of art on its own. He looks out of it—and it feels so easily achieved this time around that Sougo can’t help but briefly wonder if Gintoki is having a particularly rough week. His eyelids are drooping even more than usual, and there are unshed tears welling up from his outer tear ducts. His lips are still pink and swollen from having his face properly used, and an adorable string of drool has slipped its way down his chin.
Sougo shudders. He doesn’t look away, too enraptured. Patience discarded, he doesn’t even blink as he begins to push himself into Gintoki’s waiting hole. This is all because of him — for him. He caused this look on Gintoki’s face.
This filthy expression, paired with the ridiculous ranking above Gintoki’s head. Hah. Who else could do this but him? It’s dangerously amusing. His own expression slowly warps, a clear indication of how he’s feeling—fulfillingly sadistic and especially in control, just like he’s meant to be. Like he needs to be.
The noise Gintoki makes as he pushes in would be embarrassing in any other context. Maybe it still is – Sougo hopes it is. Gintoki sounds like a filthy prostitute, only it’s worse, or better, because Sougo knows it’s entirely genuine. He isn’t unaffected either. He sucks in a sharp breath as he forces himself deeper, still watching like a hawk as Gintoki’s face contorts. And when it looks like it hurts most, he makes sure to keep going until he has no choice but to bend Gintoki over to fit inside completely.
To hear Sakata Gintoki moan from being fucked like a dog is certainly a special experience, but to hear him whine and whimper and choke on the nonsense of half-formed words falling past his lips is something else entirely.
Sougo sets a brutal pace, but it’s one Gintoki is familiar with, but still one that makes him groan and scratch at the wall for purchase. He fucks into him like they’re nothing but mating animals, fated to breed and die in a moments notice–the sounds of skin against skin echo repeatedly through the room along with everything else, but neither of them care. For now, for the both of them, this is all that matters, this brutal fucking that gives them both what they need.
Sougo keeps one hand locked in Gintoki’s hair, committed to the position, and his hips don’t slow in the slightest even as his own heady pants for air become heavy and audible.
Beyond the intoxicating satisfaction of being in control, Gintoki feels far too good like this. His insides are hot and smooth and stupidly tight and Sougo has no qualms with engaging himself in something so filthy to have them time and time again.
He's unsure of how long it goes on, their messy, ruthless fucking–given and received–but Sougo can both hear and feel when Gintoki begins to reach his end. The heat squeezing around him seems to pulse before it tightens, and it's as Sougo catches where one of Gintoki's hands had gone, from his chest to around his mostly useless cock, that he realizes Gintoki is cumming. Touching without permission is still a work in progress, and his own orgasm is too euphoric in it's own right for him to inflict any punishment. Spilling his seed into Gintoki is one of his favorite parts, and the sound of a soft moan from the back of Sougo's throat signifies as much. There remains something intricately satisfying about leaving Gintoki split in half and twitching while his used hole leaks and drips his release like a freshly used rag.
That's exactly how he intends to leave him now, at least in the short while he can.
Sougo pulls out slowly, making sure to drag his cock against Gintoki's now wet insides. He cleans the tip of his cock first on Gintoki's gaping rim, and then with a handkerchief after he's released his grip on Gintoki's hair. Thoroughly fucked, and clearly sated, Gintoki's front slides down against the wall until his exposed chest is pressed to the floor and his ass, wrecked, is still half sticking up.
“Danna...” Sougo sighs. He's slightly winded, but in comparison to Gintoki, being out of breath is nothing. “Clean yourself up before I arrest you for indecency.”
He tucks himself back into his pants and tosses the handkerchief to the floor, much too far for Gintoki to reach without crawling. “But you'd like that, wouldn't you?”
Sougo simply stares once he's met with no response. Gintoki is still breathing heavily, his rim wide and wet and dripping, his chest to the floor and his own mess of cum beneath him. Sougo goes through the trouble of taking out his phone and snapping a picture, and after a moment, again reaches into his pocket. Seconds later he's pushing a piece of gum into his mouth, still captivated by the fruits of his hard work in front of him.
“We're about to start airing, you know.” As if Gintoki would stay at the top of the poll looking so thoroughly debauched.
As he turns to leave, Sougo fails to notice the briefest of moments where Gintoki's rank clearly reads 2位, and his own 1位.