What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

Rules

Timidly, I reached up to cup Hijikata's jaw, finding smooth skin under my fingers. He closed his eyes at my touch, a small sigh leaving his beautiful lips. That special show of trust moved me beyond words, and the need coiling in my stomach broke through my restraints. My mouth reached for his, hands circling his shoulders to keep my precarious balance.

He didn't move an inch, allowing me to feast upon his lips with both tenderness and passion. For such an unyielding man, he almost tasted sweet. Beautiful inside out. Eventually, he pulled me into his lap, strong fingers slowly ascending along my spine until they grabbed my nape. There, nestled against him, our bodies in contact – at last! — I found myself enthralled by his touch, his lips, the little amount of skin offered below the collar.

Perhaps he was an Oni after all, because I was absolutely incapable of backing down. My lungs were screaming for air and I pulled away, only to reach for the cord that fastened his ponytail. His jet black hair tumbled like a waterfall upon the purple hakamashita, a striking contrast. I couldn't resist burying my hands into the thick tresses, marvelling that, after a day, there were no tangles.

Damn, everything about him was worth exploring.

The way he looked at me caused my breath to hitch. I'd never seen him so open. Sadly, I really needed to calm my racing heart, and I settled upon his lap to try to ease the pain of my constricting chest.

Stupid cyanide.

Toshizō sent me a worried look, grabbing the hand pressed upon my sternum. The warmth of his touch eased the pain away, and I smiled. I had trouble reconvening with the fact that less than an hour ago, he'd been glaring at me. How did we come to this ? Nibbling on my lower lip, I grabbed a long strand from behind his nape and smoothed it down.

"There should be Haiku written about your hair," I whispered. I could tell my words affected him by the blush that crept up his cheeks.

"Okita calls me vain," he chuckled. And I felt how Sōji's brattiness pained him, deep down. Now that the Fukuchō had shed his mantle, the man soared and shed its hurts. That he would confide them to me was a priceless present.

"Okita would call you anything to annoy you. I think that's the way he expresses admiration, in his own twisted way."

And jealousy...

Toshizō blinked, considering my words with care. Our faces were but inches apart, and I, comfortably settled in his lap, debated whether to hug him or not. My body was calling for his, but cuddles weren't quite a thing in Japan. Yet, he had not sent me away, even though I was probably cutting circulation in his legs.

"Ah. You're probably right," he sighed. "But enough of him. He's already the bane of my days, let him not be the plague of my nights."

I smiled fondly; he had such a way with words. Little wonder people found him inspiring. From the shortest command, barked with authority, to the longest discourse, Hijikata could pierce people's heart without mercy.

"You definitely are a poet."

"A mediocre one, at best."

My eyebrows knit in a furrow: "I disagree. And you tend to underestimate yourself, from what I gathered."

"Eh?" The sound reminded me of Chizuru's involuntary squeaks, climbing an octave higher than his usual rumble. I watched with amusement the steep incline of his left eyebrow, setting his features in an almost comical expression. My finger longed to follow that line, to smooth out those jet-black hairs that gave him such expressive features.

Would it be too intimate ?

I settled for a chuckle: "Everyone here looks up to you, including Kondō-san. That Oni nickname was not only created by fear. It means power."