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peace in your violence

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“Mmnh - mmnh - mmnh-”

“Better keep it down, Tomioka,” Sanemi breathes in his ear. Giyuu groans into the hand covering his mouth. “What did I just fucking say?”

Giyuu knows he has to be quiet. He knows. But Sanemi’s hitting him so right that Giyuu can’t even breathe without making it known how good he feels.

Sanemi’s chest is hot against his back. Giyuu whimpers, scrabbling against the wall for something to hold onto as his fingers curl reflexively with every hard nudge against his prostate.

“Shut the fuck up,” Sanemi hisses, slowing his thrusts down until every one wrenches a breath out of him. “We’re in - Shinobu’s - fucking - house. That get you off or something? Huh?”

Giyuu shakes his head quickly, shame coursing through him and settling in his gut.

Sanemi laughs quietly. It’s not a mean sound - more like exhilarated. “I think it does, Tomioka. You like knowing someone could hear us?” Giyuu whines and Sanemi licks sweat off his neck with another manic laugh. “All those dumb kids who love you so much are right on the other side of this wall.”

Giyuu shakes his head again forcefully at the thought. He’d been on his way to visit Tanjiro and his friends in the infirmary after a mission when he’d run into Sanemi trying to pretend he wasn’t doing the exact same thing for Inosuke, whom Sanemi refuses to admit he’s taken a liking to. 

Now they’re here, crammed in the closet where Shinobu keeps her medical supplies, and there’s a puddle of ointment on the floor that Sanemi spilled in his enthusiasm to finger Giyuu open. Giyuu doesn’t think he could live it down if Tanjiro heard him. He would never forgive himself. He has to stay quiet - he needs to stay quiet.

But he can’t. 

“Fu-u-uck,” Sanemi breathes.

He takes his hand off of Giyuu’s mouth. Giyuu’s about to protest before his head is wrenched to the side and Sanemi’s lips cover his own in a wild kiss that feels like its own form of sex, sloppy tongues and breaths that hitch every time Sanemi’s skin slaps against his. 

Giyuu was gnawing on his own bottom lip before this, but now he bites at Sanemi’s instead when he gets too overwhelmed. Sanemi likes it, if his low groan is anything to go by. Giyuu files it away in the part of his brain that hasn’t turned to mush. 

He feels split open, like Sanemi’s carved out a place inside him just for his cock. Giyuu’s face burns at the thought, legs starting to shake. Sanemi drops his arm so that both hands are gripping Giyuu’s hips to hold him in place, pulling him back into Sanemi’s thrusts like a doll.

Giyuu cries out into Sanemi’s mouth and the other man shushes him, pushes his tongue between Giyuu’s lips. 

As different as the two of them are, they’re both unfailingly responsible in every aspect of their lives - except this one. It feels so good to let go, give in, sneak around - almost better than the sex itself. 

Almost better. Because, for all his faults, it turns out that Sanemi is really good at this. 

“Shit,” Sanemi groans. His lips slide from Giyuu’s mouth to his cheek, then down along his jaw, the exposed line of his throat. 

Giyuu immediately bites his own fist, trying to brace himself against the wall and stay quiet at the same time. Sanemi’s mouth is hot on his skin, making him squirm; Giyuu shoves back on Sanemi’s cock and arches his back, losing his shame bit by bit.

His fist isn’t doing a good job of containing his moans, though. “Haa-a-a-ah-”

“Tomioka - Giyuu,” Sanemi hisses, ripping Giyuu’s hand away and replacing it with two of his fingers. He shoves them so deep Giyuu nearly chokes, cock dripping. “Fuck, you feel good. How is this - always - so good-”

He cuts himself off by biting Giyuu’s shoulder, right where it meets the back of his neck. Giyuu sucks on his fingers like a whore, a desperate whine welling up in his throat at the sharp press of Sanemi’s teeth into his skin.

Giyuu’s nails are digging into his own palms, desperate for something to grab on to as he braces both arms against the wall. When they do this in a bed, he can crumple the sheets in his fists or squeeze the pillow just to redirect some of his frantic energy, but the walls in this closet are smooth and Giyuu has no outlet for how good Sanemi feels inside him, for the pleasure that’s slowly making his knees weak.

Sanemi bites him in another spot closer to the back of his neck. The first place he’d bitten is throbbing, hot and sore, and Giyuu thinks he probably has a bruise there now. 

From the way his stomach flutters at the thought, he might like that a little too much.

Sanemi forces another finger between his lips and Giyuu keens, one of his hands flying back to fist in Sanemi’s hair. He shivers at the way it makes Sanemi growl against his skin, pressing his forehead to Giyuu’s hair and panting as he drives into him.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Giyuu squeezes his eyes shut and sucks on Sanemi’s fingers, shivering at the hot breaths teasing his already-overheated skin. He tugs on Sanemi’s hair and gasps when he’s nearly sent face-first into the wall, Sanemi’s hips jumping wildly as he groans.

“Please,” Giyuu tries to mumble, but it comes out garbled around Sanemi’s fingers.

“Hah?” Sanemi leans back a little and huffs out a laugh. “Spit it out, Tomioka.”

He fucks his fingers deeper, wet and messy in and out like he’s trying to fingerbang Giyuu’s throat, and Giyuu gets the sense that Sanemi doesn’t actually want him to respond. He chokes a little when Sanemi pushes too deep and flushes hot all over with embarrassment as Sanemi laughs.

Again, it’s not a mean sound, it’s… 

“So fucking pretty,” Sanemi murmurs, drawing his fingers out of Giyuu’s mouth with a wet pop. 

Giyuu sinks his teeth into his lower lip so hard he immediately tastes blood, eyebrows scrunching together as his face burns even hotter. Sanemi knows he has a good angle and he’s abusing it relentlessly, a full ache building between Giyuu’s legs as his cock twitches.

“Yeah?” Sanemi goads. Giyuu nods, then gasps when Sanemi drops his wet fingers down to wrap around his cock. “Yeah - nnnh, ah, fuck. Close?”

Giyuu nods again, pleasure suddenly urgent and agonizing. He lets go of Sanemi’s hair to brace both hands against the wall, mindlessly rutting back against him. “Please - Sanemi-”

“Shit.” Sanemi’s hand tightens on his dick. “Yeah, c’mon - come for me-”

He moves his free hand up to tangle in Giyuu’s hair, pulling on it until Giyuu’s bent in a deep arch. The slide of Sanemi’s cock is even easier like this, bullying its way deep inside and pushing against that spot over and over until it’s all Giyuu can do to hold still and take it. 

He’s going to come. Giyuu’s mouth drops open and he gasps.

“Ah - uhh, fuck-”

“Just like that,” Sanemi breathes.

Giyuu is gone. He claps a hand over his mouth as he starts to come, shaking and clenching around Sanemi’s dick as his own cock twitches and spurts all over the wall in front of him. His groan is low and guttural, more animal than human, and it turns abruptly to a whimper when Sanemi yanks on his hair and fucks him through his orgasm without letting up, fire raging in his belly.

Sanemi only stops when he himself comes, hips stuttering before he buries himself in Giyuu’s body with a deep moan that makes Giyuu’s spent cock twitch in weak, useless interest. He finally lets go of Giyuu’s hair, hiding his face in the crook of Giyuu’s neck. 

Giyuu feels heat burst inside him and he squirms, wondering how he’s going to possibly face the kids with the wind pillar’s come dripping out of him.


Zenitsu has never hated his enhanced hearing more than he does at this very moment.

They - they - Tomioka and Shinazugawa both have their own estates! Why did they feel the need to fuck here, of all places, a wall away from the infirmary and firmly in range of Zenitsu’s unfortunate eardrums?

“Shit, look at that,” he hears Shinazugawa murmur, voice rough. “Makes me wanna go again.”

“Stop staring, it’s embarrassing.” Tomioka’s voice. “You always come so much.”

Zenitsu loves the thought of sex as much as the next teenage boy, but hearing two of the pillars actually do it and talk about it is not his idea of a fun time. 

“You sure you’re not getting sick, Zenitsu?” Tanjiro asks for the fourth time. That innocent, unsuspecting soul. Zenitsu has to protect him. “You’re really red.”

Zenitsu shakes his head and does his best to ignore the sound of kissing coming from the other side of the wall.

“This is the dumbest place to get sick!” Inosuke proclaims, pointing his cards at Zenitsu’s face. “Only weak boys get sick in the infirmary!”

“I can see all of your cards, you stupid boar!” Zenitsu yells.

Inosuke yelps and rearranges his cards as Tanjiro plays his hand in the newest card game they’ve come up with to pass the time while recovering from their various injuries.

“We can’t go in at the same time,” he hears Tomioka say. “Wait a minute or two and then come in after me.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Shinazugawa says. “But - yeah. That’s, uh. That’s a good idea.”

Tanjiro and Inosuke are sitting with their backs more or less to the door. Which means that Zenitsu is the only one that swallows his tongue when Tomioka appears in the doorway with messy hair, swollen lips, and a huge bruise on the side of his neck.

“You must have a fever, Zenitsu!” Tanjiro exclaims.

Zenitsu shakes his head, unable to say more than, “Tomioka-san is here.”

Tanjiro’s face lights up and he forgets all about Zenitsu’s “fever,” turning around and hopping off the bed to say hi to his mentor. He doesn’t seem to notice that anything’s amiss, probably because he doesn’t have the unfortunate privilege of knowing that Tomioka just got rawed in the supply closet.

Zenitsu crawls back in his infirmary cot and pulls the sheets over his face when Shinazugawa walks in a minute later. He can’t deal with whatever new methods of torment the wind pillar is inevitably going to teach Inosuke and he especially can’t deal with the post-coital smugness rolling off of him in waves.

He might consider jerking off to the memory later once the shock factor has worn off, but for now Zenitsu just prays for sleep to take him.