Gintama Humor
Title: "On the Subject of Marriage"
By: Enkidu
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura
Warnings: Yaoi. Humor. Naruto spoilers for ch. 306. A side of crack. Potty language. Mentions of sex and sexual situations. Katsura-bashing.
Gintoki knows why he never got married. Sure, he often blames it on his natural perm, and how it seems to ward off all women except a certain near-sighted ninja who was probably currently hiding out in his closet and camouflaging with the wall… again.
In truth, he just never enjoyed the idea of commitment and having to deal with the same over-bearing, needy woman everyday, which, on further thought, wasn’t really all that different than dealing with an over-bearing, needy terrorist. Except said terrorist had, well, a penis. Physically speaking, of course.
Nevertheless, Katsura was the embodiment of all things feared and loathed in wives -the stubbornness, the emotional reliance, the attachment, the withholding of sex when one leaves curly, silver hair in the drain again. Gintoki had been hoping to avoid the endless stream of fights and bitchery that came with dealing with women, and really, he thought satisfying his physical needs with a man would actually be a good idea.
Men couldn’t get pregnant. Men don’t care if you roll over after sex and read Shounen Jump. Men don’t mind if you watch the daily weather news report for the hot, sexy weather girl. Men don’t expect flattery or flowers; they just want you to use lubricant when you engage in anal intercourse with them. Most of all, men don’t need constant reassurance of your undying love for them.
Now, of course this was all in theory. When put into practice in the wild, one attracts the exotic Bitchus terroristus who enjoys habits like reciting poetry as the wind billows through its impractical long hair, bombing important government buildings, and occasionally pretending to be a pirate.
There was a time when it was just sex and camaraderie. It was a happy time that Gintoki barely remembered because there was also a lot of killing, liquor, sex, and more killing. Wait. Happy wasn’t the right word. Perhaps, disorientating would be a more accurate description of the events that led to the present day -the present day being mid-May in a hot, stuffy apartment with no air conditioning. He did, however, have an apron-clad Katsura in his kitchen, making them stir-fry.
Gintoki hadn’t particularly wanted Katsura to sleep over. He enjoyed having the entire futon to himself rather than waking up with his face drowning in a sea of lavender-scented hair and trapped between a set of arms latched onto him like a horny panda on another panda. However, Katsura had a way of wearing Gintoki out before he could protest -that way being something Katsura referred to as “fellatio”. Gintoki wanted to tell him that was too fancy of a word to describe putting your mouth on someone’s penis, but he didn’t want to discourage the act.
By the time they had finished with the “fellatio” and the later bout of “love making”, an argument had ensued about Gintoki wanting to read the latest Naruto chapter (“Don’t tell me you’re going to read Shounen Jump now!” “But they finally showed Sasuke’s face and outfit!” “I don’t care who that is. It can wait.” “I’ve been waiting for over a year.” “Do you think he’s prettier than me?” “He’s fifteen. And not real.” “You didn’t answer the question!” “Are you actually jealous of an under-aged, fictional character?” “Shut up!”). After that, Gintoki had been too exhausted to kick the terrorist out of his bed so he could enjoy his Shounen Jump in peace.
Luckily, Katsura woke up early the next morning to cook a most delicious-smelling breakfast, and as Gintoki’s eyes trailed down Katsura’s backside, openly grateful that his over-dramatic friend was butt-naked under the apron, he decided that perhaps occasionally fornicating with him was not the worst thing in the world. They did have their good times -laughing over silly Amanto jokes while throwing back some borderline acidic alcoholic beverage, making out like horny teenagers in a dirty alley at 3 a.m. after consuming six glasses of said alcoholic beverage, then the resulting fornication.
At least, Katsura couldn’t get pregnant and bleed him dry for every last penny he owned, or even worse, raise the child to physically embody his rampant terrorist ideals.
By: Enkidu
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura
Warnings: Yaoi. Humor. Naruto spoilers for ch. 306. A side of crack. Potty language. Mentions of sex and sexual situations. Katsura-bashing.
Gintoki knows why he never got married. Sure, he often blames it on his natural perm, and how it seems to ward off all women except a certain near-sighted ninja who was probably currently hiding out in his closet and camouflaging with the wall… again.
In truth, he just never enjoyed the idea of commitment and having to deal with the same over-bearing, needy woman everyday, which, on further thought, wasn’t really all that different than dealing with an over-bearing, needy terrorist. Except said terrorist had, well, a penis. Physically speaking, of course.
Nevertheless, Katsura was the embodiment of all things feared and loathed in wives -the stubbornness, the emotional reliance, the attachment, the withholding of sex when one leaves curly, silver hair in the drain again. Gintoki had been hoping to avoid the endless stream of fights and bitchery that came with dealing with women, and really, he thought satisfying his physical needs with a man would actually be a good idea.
Men couldn’t get pregnant. Men don’t care if you roll over after sex and read Shounen Jump. Men don’t mind if you watch the daily weather news report for the hot, sexy weather girl. Men don’t expect flattery or flowers; they just want you to use lubricant when you engage in anal intercourse with them. Most of all, men don’t need constant reassurance of your undying love for them.
Now, of course this was all in theory. When put into practice in the wild, one attracts the exotic Bitchus terroristus who enjoys habits like reciting poetry as the wind billows through its impractical long hair, bombing important government buildings, and occasionally pretending to be a pirate.
There was a time when it was just sex and camaraderie. It was a happy time that Gintoki barely remembered because there was also a lot of killing, liquor, sex, and more killing. Wait. Happy wasn’t the right word. Perhaps, disorientating would be a more accurate description of the events that led to the present day -the present day being mid-May in a hot, stuffy apartment with no air conditioning. He did, however, have an apron-clad Katsura in his kitchen, making them stir-fry.
Gintoki hadn’t particularly wanted Katsura to sleep over. He enjoyed having the entire futon to himself rather than waking up with his face drowning in a sea of lavender-scented hair and trapped between a set of arms latched onto him like a horny panda on another panda. However, Katsura had a way of wearing Gintoki out before he could protest -that way being something Katsura referred to as “fellatio”. Gintoki wanted to tell him that was too fancy of a word to describe putting your mouth on someone’s penis, but he didn’t want to discourage the act.
By the time they had finished with the “fellatio” and the later bout of “love making”, an argument had ensued about Gintoki wanting to read the latest Naruto chapter (“Don’t tell me you’re going to read Shounen Jump now!” “But they finally showed Sasuke’s face and outfit!” “I don’t care who that is. It can wait.” “I’ve been waiting for over a year.” “Do you think he’s prettier than me?” “He’s fifteen. And not real.” “You didn’t answer the question!” “Are you actually jealous of an under-aged, fictional character?” “Shut up!”). After that, Gintoki had been too exhausted to kick the terrorist out of his bed so he could enjoy his Shounen Jump in peace.
Luckily, Katsura woke up early the next morning to cook a most delicious-smelling breakfast, and as Gintoki’s eyes trailed down Katsura’s backside, openly grateful that his over-dramatic friend was butt-naked under the apron, he decided that perhaps occasionally fornicating with him was not the worst thing in the world. They did have their good times -laughing over silly Amanto jokes while throwing back some borderline acidic alcoholic beverage, making out like horny teenagers in a dirty alley at 3 a.m. after consuming six glasses of said alcoholic beverage, then the resulting fornication.
At least, Katsura couldn’t get pregnant and bleed him dry for every last penny he owned, or even worse, raise the child to physically embody his rampant terrorist ideals.