What makes history (Hijikata x OC)

You must go

Toshizō's body was a work of art, and the yearning to explore all of him had finally been answered. My fingers danced upon every ridge, every plane, every valley, massaging the stiffness away, caressing to my heart's content. Sometimes, my ministrations wrenched a groan out of his throat, reverberating through my body as I applied pressure along his spine. I revelled in those deep, masculine sounds as my hands feasted upon pale skin, eager to recall the shiatsu classes of my youth to the living eye candy that was Hijikata Toshizō. The dull ache in my fingers did not matter; the present of his trust took precedence over every inconvenience.

As he groaned, once more, I gently laid over him and whispered in his ear:

"I'm going to need your poetic talents."

"You may as well walk to battle naked," he chuckled.

I rolled my eyes; some dubbed him a pitiful poet. Given my despicable poetic skill, I loved hearing his haikus. That contemplative side of him was cute, and no matter what people thought, I relished in the fact he would unlock his emotions on paper.

"Help me find a name for my blade ?"

A thoughtful hum greeted my request, and I took a moment to bask in the living, warm bundle of muscles that moved with every breath under my body.

"Hai," he eventually responded. "This I can do. How about... something to do with the light ?"

The answer struck me in the face with such strength that I shot upwards, jostling his hips in the process. It was so obvious that I couldn't fathom how it had escaped me all this time. A tribute to both Aragorn – and his sword andúril – and the people of Japan whose guidance had turned the elvish weapon into a flaming blade.

"Oh my god, you are incredible !" I squirmed before his painful grunt wrenched me back to reality. "Sorry, sorry."

"Do not mind my crushed bones..." he whined. "What did you decide ?"

"Azuma no hōno," I stated proudly. Flame of the east.

Satisfied with my epiphany, I returned to coiled muscles and sanity skin, revelling in the soft moans that rose from under his waterfall of jet black hair. Toshizō melted under my touch, his breathing deep and even as my hands ran over him.

Eventually I slid sideways, keeping contact with long, sensual strokes across his back, then digging in his unbound hair. He faced away from me, allowing me to play with his luxuriant tresses to my heart's content. I spilled the ebony waterfall over relaxed muscles before I reached for the kakebuton. As I leant over, my hand lightly brushed his flank. Toshizō almost bolted away from the touch and I chuckled.

"Ticklish ?"

A grunt was my only response as he settled again; I filed the information for later. For now, all my hard work had been undone. So, the flurry of caresses started anew, this time under the warmth of shared bedding, the hibachi our sole source of light as time remained suspended.

A move was planned to the Fushimi magistrate on the morrow; we would probably bunk in with the others. Tonight, was out last night together, huddled in his room, hidden from the world. I suspected it to be the reason for his acquiescence – at last – that I massage his worries away, amongst other things. Minutes tickled slowly, lulled by cracking embers, as I explored the skin of his back with delight.

Had he fallen asleep ? My touches became lighter as I slid my fingers around his taut waist, marvelling at the warmth he exuded. I was about to call it a night and claim his shoulder when his rumble rose in the silence.

"You must go, Kitsu."

Taken aback, I resorted to humour to hide my wounded heart.

"Was the massage so bad that you want me gone ?"