Summary: cis m x trans f (she/her, "cock," "tip"), fluff to smut, homicidal senior citizens in love, theoretical discussion of marriage, body worship, size difference, biting and drawing blood, spit as lube, anal sex
Notes: I can't even remember when I said I would write this for my beloved @octosimpin—I'm so sorry it took so long, but I hope I did them justice! For everyone who followed me recently, please know that Golden Kamuy was the spark that lit the flame ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅
Disclaimer: Underage, ageless, and blank blogs will be blocked. For everyone else, FUB free ♡
"Do you ever think about growing old together?"
Ushiyama Tatsuma was sprawled on the futon, head resting on his arms. It was morning in name only—the dark room illuminated by an oil lamp whose small, yellow flame cast deep shadows on the walls. Ienaga Kano sat beside him, knees tucked primly beneath her. She drew a brush through her long hair, the shining curtain draping her naked body in an imitation of modesty.
She laughed softly, "We're already old."
Sitting up, blankets puddling in his lap, Ushiyama ran his hand through her tresses, the strands slipping through his fingers like water. "Older then."
Ienaga glanced at him, her eyes glittering in the lamplight, but continued to work the brush through her hair. "You're sentimental this morning."
"Well?" He watched her steadily with hooded eyes until she finally laid down the brush.
Sighing, Ienaga shrugged. "Maybe it's unromantic of me, but I've never given it any thought. I've always been," she paused, licked her lips, "preoccupied."
Ushiyama grunted in agreement. "I was always training. Or fighting."
"'Was'? That's all you do now," Ienaga said, raising a brow. "There's only one other thing you ever think about—maybe Ushiyama the Unfatiguable would be more fitting."
"I don't hear you complaining." Ushiyama took her hand, as finely boned as a bird, and pressed her fingers to his lips. "Not a bad way to spend your golden years…"
"You're really serious about this, aren't you?" Ienega reached out with her other hand, smoothing the grizzled hair at his temple, fingertips brushing over the shell of his ear. "Tatsuma, marriage isn't for people like us."
Ushiyama frowned, moustache bristling. "What is that supposed to mean?"
She gave his ear a sharp tug. "Criminals."
He paused. "Instead of prison orange, I'd like to see you in one of those European gowns—a 'white wedding,' I think they call it…"
Ienaga stared at him, then burst into bright peals of laughter. Ushiyama grinned. He loved that lack of restraint—the way she threw her head back, showing all her teeth, the crinkle around her eyes.
Growling, playful, he grabbed her in an embrace. "Why not?"
Ienaga put her hand on his broad chest, pushing him back slightly. "White weddings are for virgins," she said, her voice rich with laughter.
Tipping her chin, Ushiyama ran his thumb along the plush curve of her lower lip. "I suppose that won't work after all. I'll have to think of something else."
"Isn't this enough," Ienaga breathed, "Tatsuma?"
He watched her mouth as she caressed his name, the way her lips parted around the final syllable, the soft, warm cloud of her breath on his morning stubble. Irresistible.
Tatsuma—she murmured his name again, again as he drew her into his lap, taking her in. The cascade of her hair over her shoulders, her dark eyes like wanton embers. He trailed his calloused hand along the tattooed plain of her chest, her belly, to the sharp bluff of her hip, and the trellis of downy hair leading to her rosy, swollen cock.
"You are perfect," Ushiyama murmured.
Crushing his mouth to hers, he savored the pillow of her lips, the sharp edge of her teeth, and the bloom of blood as she bit down on his lower lip—a flower with thorns. Ushiyama groaned and broke away. Spitting into his hand, he stroked himself, then, grasping Ienaga around the waist, lifted her easily over his straining cock. Hands on his shoulders, she sank down, her puckered flesh opening around him, holding him tight.
Ushiyama devoured the sight of her as she rolled her hips—her dark lashes fanned over flushed cheeks, the parted "O" of her lips as she panted. His cock throbbed and the "O" crooked into a heady smile. Ienaga gripped his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin, and snapped her hips. Ushiyama's breath caught in his chest and he groaned. Buried inside her, spurred almost solely by the sight of her lithe body undulating in the early dawn, he came easy, filling her with his warmth.
Ienaga grinned, eyeteeth flashing. She quickened her pace, pleasing herself till she came undone, her rouge tip unspooling white and hot over Ushiyama's stomach.
Wrapping his arms around her, Ushiyama pulled her against him. He could hardly tell where his body ended and hers began, tangled with her, inside her, engulfed by her. Closing his eyes, he nuzzled her hair, inhaling her scent.
"If this is all we are, Kano," he said—cobalt mornings and lamplight; two people, criminals, forming a neverending loop; things he couldn't put into words—"then that is enough for me…"
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