There’s something so carnal and primal thinking about Sanemi who smells like a real man. It’s different to the way Tengen douses himself in potent oils, the flowery scent that follows Mitsuri or the clean scent of a fresh Giyuu.

His sweat mixed with the rice bran he used days ago to bathe, lingers on his skin and driving you crazy when it laces with his natural musk. Completely unaware of just how much it affects you until he’s got you pressed to the ground, his forearm wrapped around your neck and his armpit so close that you moan. Eyes rolling as you inhale deeply and Sanemi’s looking down at you in shock when you turn in his grip to bury your nose in his hairy pit.

God, you really are a sick freak.