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"This is your fault."
Obanai's voice is already grating enough on a good day. Listening to him scold you for something that's abso-fucking-lutely not your fault while trying to point his stupid finger at you makes you wish, no, yearn to be able to draw your blade. Maybe you'd be able to get a few hits in on him. Just enough to wipe the presumably smug smirk off his face under those forsaken bandages. That's all you need. Just a little something to take the edge off.
"Yeah, sorry. Next time, I'll ask the demon nicely what their blood demon art is while they've got their hand around my throat. Think that'll work? Think he'll be kind enough to give me a crash course before he locks us in a fucking two by four box, asshole?"
You're not normally this mouthy. Ask any of the other Hashira besides him or Sanemi, and they would think you were a gem. Offering to assist with training. Always willing to spar. Never complaining when a mission goes awry. But something about the Serpent Hashira rubs you the wrong way.
You know why, of course. Because he's sent straight from the bowels of hell to be your own personal nemesis. That and he's just a goddamn jerk to you for no goddamn reason. At least none that you're aware of. He kisses the ground Kanroji walks on and is downright respectful with Kocho, so it can't be a sexist thing. Yet when you're around, suddenly it's free game to see how much misery he can inflict in one sitting.
If it isn't your sword work, it's your breathing technique. If it isn't your breathing technique, it's your speed. If it isn't your speed, it's your footwork. He's even had the audacity to moan and groan about your outfits, the way you style your hair, and the company you keep. As if any of that has fuck all to do with him.
"Maybe next time you'll spend more than two minutes assessing the situation before rushing in blind. What even was that? Were you just hoping he'd let you slash his neck out of pity?"
Anger bubbles in your chest, and all you want to do is scream in his face at the top of your lungs. It'd be easy considering the two of you are so close you're breathing the same air. In fact, you're so tangled and pressed together right now that you're not even sure where one of you begins and the other ends.
Whatever blood demon art the creature has, it's not a particularly strong one. Somehow, that adds more insult to injury. You and Obanai had been fighting a lower moon and had all but ignored the other demon with them. It was a rookie mistake that both of you made. But now you're in a box. A box that seems to be impervious from the inside. You hazard to guess that it is less impervious from the outside, which does nothing for the two of you until another slayer finds you. Lucky for both of you, Kaburamaru and your crow will have someone here soon, and the demon who trapped you seemed to know better than to stick around and try to fight two Hashira he'd just successfully incapacitated.
Now it's just a waiting game.
With your least favorite person in Japan.
At least the demon's stupid box has airholes.
"I don't remember you taking the time out of your day to handle him either," you spit back, refusing to be the scapegoat for your predicament.
His eyes narrow at that.
"I'm your senior. You should have been the one handling the weaker demon."
You toss your head back and roll your eyes, which does little to nothing to accurately convey your anger, considering you only move an inch at most. The frustration boils over, and you bite your lip, flailing as much as you can. Obanai will no doubt taunt you for behaving like a petulant child throwing a tantrum, but you're about ready to fall on your own sword. If you could only fucking reach it. Not like you can count on your companion for a mercy killing.
Instead of another disdainful quip, he lets out an alarmed hiss.
"Stop moving," he grates out, probably embarrassed having to witness your behavior. Because of course he would never dare to show any emotion besides contempt for your existence.
"Why? Am I bothering you? You'd let me know if it was, right? Because that tells me it's working. Dick."
You writhe beneath him again. Your legs are on either side of his waist, knees against the top of the box, and your hips are upturned just enough that his lower body rests where your ass and thigh meet as opposed to somewhere more suggestive. He's on top thanks to whatever karma caused the stupid box to fall that way, and he can't do much in terms of keeping himself off of you. His forearms rest against the bottom of the box on either side of your head, and yours are conveniently pinned between your bodies, hands splayed across his chest as if trying to push him away.
Moving too much makes you bump against him again, but you don't find it in yourself to care. Especially if it's pissing him off even more.
"I said stop moving."
Oh, he sounds well and truly livid, now. And a little strained. You wonder what'll happen if he blows a gasket without anywhere to go or anything he can do besides complain.
"Or what, huh? Gonna curse me out? Gonna tell the other Hashira how awful I am? Gonna petition The Master to demote me? I'm shaking. I truly am," you deadpan before slamming your shoulder against the box again, successfully jostling the two of you.
Obanai moans.
You freeze.
Honestly, you don't even pretend to have any modicum of decorum about your next decision. You adjust, sliding your hips down despite knowing there's no chance in hell you'll be able to slide back up once you do without proper leverage. But there's also no chance in hell your hypothesis regarding that moan is correct. That has to be the handle of his sword. Surely.
Except you've already established that you're in your own personal hell.
And apparently, there is a chance.
He's fully hard. You can tell from the feeling of him pressing directly against the sweet spot between your legs. When you move into this new position, despite how he lets out a huff of protest, you feel his cock twitch with obvious interest. You might be hallucinating, but you think you can even feel his hips jerk forward ever so slightly before the head above his shoulders regains control.
"What are you doing?"
He continues to act furious, as if he isn't he one with a hard on from being trapped in close proximity with you.
"What am I doing? What are you doing? Acting all high and mighty like this," you pointedly press your hips up into him and he chokes back another moan, "isn't all you."
He's trying not to look at you, but it's impossible given your position. If he isn't making eye contact, he has to look down at your mouth, which doesn't seem to be doing him any favors. His left pupil dilates when you subconsciously dart your tongue out to wet your lips, so he looks to the side instead, focusing on where his arm is pressed up against the wood behind your head.
"Shut up," he says rather weakly.
"Fine."
You fall quiet. You won't admit it, but you know you're pouting. Being stuck like this is miserable. Even trying to disappear in your own head is impossible when every breath Iguro takes reminds you that he exists. You figure that antagonizing a man in his position is just going to end with you getting cursed out, which is hardly interesting.
But ten minutes pass agonizingly slow. You know because you count each individual second.
He's still hard.
Some time between your argument and now, your gaze has fallen downward and done that strange thing where your eyes unfocus into a blur. Maybe it's a coping mechanism. Either way, you decide to chance a look up at your companion, and your breath catches in your throat. The silence makes it sound impossibly loud, but it doesn't matter because Iguro is already looking at you. His brows are furrowed, and he's staring directly at you. You wish you could tell what he's thinking because you're not sure if he wants you dead or himself.
You open your mouth to make a joke, but he cuts you off immediately.
"Don't say it."
"Okay, smartass, what was I going to say, huh?" You huff.
He groans.
"I don't know. Nothing good."
You blink in mock innocence and look back down. He's right, and you both know it, so you once again don't say anything smart. Instead, you try in vain to adjust again. If it's possible to lose circulation in several limbs at once, you're pretty sure you're getting close to finding out how. The movement makes you grind against Iguro's erection again, and this time you're horrified to find that it feels kind of…nice.
You don't moan. It's more of a pleased sigh. Which still sounds bad. But it's not a moan, you reason to yourself. A moan would be admitting to something you aren't ready to admit to.
"Dammit," Iguro groans, cock twitching again and straining against his pants.
He involuntarily rocks forward in search of more friction, and maybe your hips also involuntarily grind up into him, chasing the fleeting feeling you had seconds earlier. It's absolutely not because it's Iguro…you're just so bored, and it feels so good after doing nothing for who knows how long. It's not even a conscious decision. It just happens! You're folded together like origami, you can't help it.
But maybe you don't need to keep moving. Once is an accident, twice is blurring a line. Three times is making a full blown decision, and you fear that you've made the wrong one.
If Iguro is having the same existential crisis, it isn't stopping him either. The two of you are taking full advantage of the few inches of space you have, and it's just enough. You wish you had more, but it'll have to do because all that matters is he's hard and hot and grinding against you at just the perfect angle. How you manage to get so lucky, you have no clue.
With the minimal light leaking into your pathetic little prison, you can just see the outline of his cock and the way it slides back and forth between your legs. You wonder how it would feel if there weren't several layers of clothing separating the two of you. Would he fill you up just right? Would he be able to find that spot inside you that makes you scream? You think he would, if only to be ridiculously fucking smug about it.
But this is Iguro you're thinking about. His cock you're fantasizing about bouncing on. His hands you imagine gripping your hips and lifting them off the fictional bed as he pounds into you. You aren't even trying to imagine it's someone else who you don't maybe-hate.
You force yourself to look up, and it's a mistake.
He's too fucking close. He's too close, and when you're looking up at him it's too much, but you can't look away. His gaze finds yours immediately and holds it tenaciously. Your arousal doubles, causing you to let out a low whine and your hips to stutter and lose their rhythm. It makes him tilt his head to the side curiously, and, as if he'd been holding back, he suddenly grinds down into you even harder.
"What the fuck are we doing?" You ask, breath coming in ragged gasps. The lack of air probably isn't helping.
"Do you want to stop?"
"No!" You exclaim far too eagerly. "No, don't stop…"
"Good."
Bastard.
You dig your nails into his chest, unable to use them for much else when they remain pinned between you. Everything feels like it's on fire. Your body. The temperature of the box. His eye contact which doesn't let up for a second. Funny enough, you're really into it. It's the longest you've looked into his eyes ever. They're mesmerizing, but maybe it's just the fact that you've got his dick between your legs that's softening you up to him.
"Can you cum like this?" He asks suddenly, breaking you out of your stupor.
Honestly, you're a little dumbfounded by the question. You hadn't been expecting him to give two shits about that. He's never been one to even care about your comfort, much less your pleasure. He keeps doing these things that make you want to fuck him for real, and it's killing you.
"Yeah. Yeah, I think so. You're hitting…yeah, you're hitting it," you whisper, your voice sounding far too loud with your mouth mere inches from his.
"Feels good?"
Fuck. Why is he asking you these questions?
"Feels real fucking good, Iguro. Don't stop, okay?"
"Obanai," he corrects, slowing his thrusts.
"Huh?"
"Just call me Obanai. Call me Obanai when you cum."
You're going to combust. You're going to burst into flames. He did not just say that. You did not just moan at the idea of being given 'permission' to call him Obanai. He wants you to say his name when you cum?
Searching his face for any hint of mirth, you find none. He isn't joking. He isn't lying. He isn't making fun of you. He wants this as much as you. Within the hour, you've gone from wanting to kill him and yourself to being willing to give anything to feel him inside you. Are you losing your mind? That seems the only feasible explanation.
You test the sound of it on your tongue.
"Obanai," you groan on a particularly rough thrust.
He falters, losing his tempo and trying desperately to find it again in response.
"Obanai," you whisper it this time instead, leaning in close enough for your nose to brush his.
"Keep doing that and I'm going to cum," he warns, no real heat behind his scolding.
He speeds up after he says that, seeking release despite himself. The new tempo goes from a bump and grind to a feverish fuck. It's difficult to focus on anything besides his face, your eyes darting between his own and the bandages covering his mouth. His mouth that you really want to kiss. He won't let you, you know. He won't want you to see what he keeps hidden from the world.
At one point, when you look up once more, his eyes are on your lips again as well. They follow every flick of your tongue, and his brows furrow when you take the bottom one between your teeth. You know he wants it too, but how can you give it to him? There has to be a way without making him hate you for it.
It only takes a few seconds for the idea to pop into your head. He hides so people won't see what's beneath. You don't have to see to kiss. Hell, most people don't.
You lean forward, and he does as well, acting as if he'll meet you in the middle to kiss you through the covering. Before you make contact, you tilt your head up. It's awkward and, from the outside looking in, probably looks ridiculous, but you have to kiss him. Need to. If he wants you to say his name when you cum, he can chase it from your lips.
"Wait. Don't-"
You bite down on the cloth, teeth grazing his skin as you do so. Then you close your eyes tightly and pull it down. You thank whatever gods are looking down on you in your stupid restraints because it works. It's only by your nose brushing his bare lips that you know you're successful and where to go.
Presumably, he accepts it the moment he sees your eyes close because you aren't able to even meet him halfway before his mouth is on yours. It should be impossible, but his movements grow so hopelessly needy that you can feel the box moving across the ground with every downward thrust.
You part your lips for him, and he takes full advantage to chase your tongue with his own, commanding the kiss. Every push sends arousal thundering through your body. The noises escaping your mouth should make you want to bury your head in the sand, but he swallows them greedily and moans back in kind.
Fingers tangling into the front of his shirt, you know you won't last much longer.
"Obanai-"
"I know. I know. Cum."
"Obanai!"
You keep your eyes screwed shut as you orgasm. There's nothing to do besides ride it out while your muscles tense and your thighs tighten around his waist even more so than they already were.
He topples over the edge mere moments after you, his hips stalling out as he presses down against you as hard as he physically can. You imagine what it must feel like to have him cum inside you, what it must feel like to have him fill you until all your brain can possibly comprehend is the heat of him.
Lost in your thoughts, you almost miss the way he groans out your name under his breath.
Almost.
The two of you gasp for air, lightheaded from the lack of fresh oxygen after your…activities.
You keep your eyes closed out of respect, but already you begin to brace yourself. Will it be him blaming you for this entire ordeal? Will he scold you again for acting rashly while fighting earlier? Will he demand that the two of you never speak a word of this ever again?
He melts into you, no longer trying to hold himself up. His whole body presses against your front, and his lips ghost questioningly over your own, making them part in surprise.
The next kiss he gives you is soft. Deep. The earlier fire is nowhere to be found, but you can still practically taste the low simmer of arousal on his tongue.
"Open your eyes."
You do so.
He's beautiful.
You kiss the corner of his mouth, and he smiles. You know then that whatever this meant, the two of you will figure it out. Even if you still think he's kind of a pain in the ass, he can be your pain in the ass.
"Hey! Where the hell are you two?! Make a goddamn noise so I can hear your sorry asses!" Sanemi's voice rings out.
"Quick, stab me with your blade," Obanai deadpans.