Archive of Our Own ^beta

Nothing could’ve prepared them for war — the constant volutes of gunpowder and explosions covering the sky to turn it murky gray, how heavy every step is because artillery turned what used to be countryside into mud, or the deafening silence that reigns over the land in between attacks. The battlefield can be so peaceful, sometimes. Before it isn’t, and by the time you realize it, your eardrums have been perforated and you’re good for the infirmary and then retirement. Shinsuke saw a few comrades who had to leave them for reasons as pitiful as those — great men and women who lost too much, and got nothing in return.

They’ve been there for about six months already — but honestly, it could be more. He can’t remember the last time he woke up and simply decided to go back to sleep. He can’t remember the last time he went to the store to buy miso. He can’t remember the last time his stomach didn’t knot itself when he saw his friends' back in the distance, walking away, towards what could be their doom.

However, he knows one thing. Never in his life has he felt anger building inside him like this, piling up and festering, clogging up his airways and bloodstreams — so much hatred he feels sick. He’s always had a temper, sure. He’s always been too prideful for his own good. But this feeling? The emotion that awakens in him when he sees the piece of white cloth the enemy amanto is wearing like a trophy, asking is he’s looking for someone?

This is no mere anger. This, is wrath.

He doesn’t even try to count how many people are there. He knows he’s alone against a small troop, and he doesn’t give a damn. Right now, he only knows that he will not rest until all their heads are on the ground — until blood is spilled and soaks up the earth. He slashes and stabs everything he finds, like they’re mere pieces of meat. He doesn’t feel a single ounce of regret, as he kills and eviscerates, even though a more rational man would try to make them talk, give him more precious information that they desperately need.

But the truth might be that he’s afraid to stop. Because once he murders the last one of these assholes, when he finally stops moving, heaving, clammy with blood and dirt — once he gets his hand on the white hakama is when he’s forced to come to the most obvious conclusion.

He hasn’t seen Gintoki in hours. He tried to find him, go look for him, even after his squad left to go back to camp. And he couldn’t.

He stays there for god only knows how long, staring at the pooling green blood of the enemy leader he just decapitated. At one point, his knees buckle — because he can’t breathe, his heart is beating too fast, and he feels like he can’t see straight. His breathing keeps on getting heavier, faster — as if oxygen won’t even cooperate with him anymore. His fingers end up buried in the mud, like he’s still trying to hang on to the reality he lives in, and the fact that he might never see one of his oldest friend again, just like that, in a blink of an eye.

He’s too shocked to cry — too shocked to do anything anymore, at this point. He’s alone on the battlefield, surrounded by bodies and entrails that are quickly starting to stink the atmosphere, feces being expelled now that there is no blood or oxygen to regulate the corpses’ systems. It soon becomes too much to even breathe. The crows start getting closer, too. He has to go. He has to leave.

Shinsuke has no idea how he manages to actually reach home base in one piece. He’s completely lost in a daze, hand clenched on the white cloth, and no thoughts in his mind. He just feels the terrible pain that’s still trying to crush him from the inside, and sometimes forces him to stop in his tracks again because the world starts swirling around him and he gets close to throwing up.

Someone finally notices him and rushes in his direction. They were waiting for him, especially since his subordinates came back while he was nowhere to be seen. They ask him if he’s okay, if he needs a medic, and he blankly shakes his head while vainly trying to hide the coat that’s still bunched up under his arm. At one point, he manages to mutter that he needs to see Zura — and that’s when it hits him.

He needs to tell him. But how?

He can’t do it. He doesn’t want to do it. He can’t handle that kind of burden. He doesn’t even know what happened — he has no explanation to give.

Shinsuke blinks, and sees someone in the corner of his eyes. They’re wearing a beige kimono, shoulders covered in long brownish locks. His heart stops. He turns around with a jerk, chasing the silhouette — but no one’s there. He can still feel his eyes on him, though.

He slowly walks towards their tent — while still keeping an eye out, just in case he gets another glimpse of the man. Eventually, he comes to a halt in front of the place the three of them have shared for the bigger part of the last few months. He sees light inside, and a silhouette that’s leaning over something. The lump in his throat feels like it just doubled in size.

At long last, Zura is the one who peeks outside, and he looks surprised to see him there. “Oh, you’re back. I’ve heard you got into some trouble, but I guess you’re alright if you can still stand.”

He hates how casual he is. He has no idea. He probably thinks Gintoki is somewhere around camp, lazing around or getting stitched up. He doesn’t know. The words end up stumbling out of his mouth: “I don’t know where Gintoki is.”

The moment he finally says it out loud is when it all seems to crash on him again. He sees his friend’s eyes widening, and he realizes he’s shaking. He blinks, hard, but the wetness still covers his eyes — as the kind of sorrow he only knows from stories threatens to dig a hole in his chest that might never heal.

“Wait, are you saying he escaped already? Good grief, and here I thought he was knocked out for the entirety of the night.”

Shinsuke completely freezes, and tears finally escapes his eyelids as he stares incredulously at his friend. He croaks: “Zura, I couldn’t find him. I think he’s dead.”

The other man looks terribly confused. Clearly, he can see how upset Shinsuke is — he probably hasn’t cried like that since he got disowned — but he’s also so calm and collected, Shinsuke wonders if he’s insane. “Listen, Takasugi, I don’t know what happened, but you should probably sit down? When’s the last time you ate something? Anyway, Gintoki is fine. He came back around two hours ago, pissed off and exhausted after slaying through the entire Kavda squad that was supposed to arrive tomorrow. The commandants were all at a loss for word — and honestly, everyone’s been talking about it since he arrived. Right now, they’ve told him to rest on one of the few good cots they have. I’ll bring you there once you’ve eaten and drank something, alright?”

Shinsuke actually sits down right there, on the grass, because he can’t feel his legs anymore. He blinks, tries to make sense of what Zura just told him — and then, that’s when it hits him.

The amanto truly was just taunting him. It wasn’t a trophy. He overreacted. He immediately assumed the worst. And now, he feels so stupid — and also relieved.

Zura forces him to drink and wipe himself — he didn’t realize he had some gore in his hair, but now that he came back to his senses, he can smell it. He needs a good soak in the river nearby, but that’s for later. Because as soon as he’s done eating an onigiri and got some water back in his system, he rushes through the camp, towards the officers’ tents that’s deeper in the forest, and violently pushes the flap back.

Gintoki is asleep, mouth open. His bare chest raises and falls with every snore. Not too long ago, Shinsuke would’ve been immediately annoyed by the sight. Right now, he wants to cry again — of relief.

He doesn’t stay long, eager to bathe and be alone for a moment. He still hasn’t completely processed all that just happened, such a rollercoaster of emotions he struggles to even name. He mechanically washes his hair and body, then he takes care of his sword, he eats another ration; and soon enough, he’s back at Gintoki’s tent, just to peek inside before it’s time for the night’s strategy meeting.

He should probably listen — after all, they were close to being wiped out if they didn’t catch unto the Kavda’s advancement in time. However, he’s too distracted by the whispers he can hear from all around him.

Soldiers are talking about Gintoki. They’re saying he saved them all, and that the commanders just want to keep the glory to themselves. They’re saying that Gintoki stayed when most people ran away, and slayed every enemy crossing his way, despite being completely outnumbered. They say he kept changing weapons, as agile with a katana as he can be with a naginata or a kunai — using his fists, punching his way through crowds while swaying out of reach with each step, murdering amantos one by one, dropping heads, hands and other appendages until the battlefield was nothing but a bloodbath. And that’s where they found him, exhausted, covered in blood from head to toes, hands clenched on two weapons and eyes as red as a demon’s.

None of these words surprise him. Of course Gintoki is strong — where were they all these past months? But still, the word echoes in between fighters, and he wonders if he likes it. A demon. Gintoki is a strength to be reckoned with, he’s too strong to be compared to the norm — but he doesn’t really enjoy them doubting his humanity, especially after he saved them all.

At the end of the day, while everyone goes back to their beds and wishes each other good night, he trails behind. Zura sends him a look, but doesn’t say anything. Then, as soon as he’s out of sight — he goes back to the tent.

Gintoki hasn’t moved, but it might not be long now. Still, Shinsuke cannot for the life of him just turn back again. He decides to climb the tree right next to the tent and settle on a branch, back against the trunk. No one will notice him if he stays quiet. He needs to be there, or else he fears he’ll start worrying and imagining the worst case scenario again — but he doesn’t want Gintoki to know he’s watching over him either.

At long last, he has nothing but his thoughts to distract him — and that’s when it starts to really hit him. He went through so much, those past years. He was disowned. Shouyou was arrested. They joined the war. He killed people for the first time, then lost count very quickly. He saw a friend die in front of him, and then lost count as well. But this one loss — one he couldn’t even see with his own eyes, one that was only real in his head — is what broke him.

His thoughts just keep swirling around that fact, his stomach heavy and all up in knots as he tries to process what this means — until he finally hears rustling coming from the tent. It only takes a few seconds for the flap to be pushed upwards and for the silver-haired soldier to stumble out with the look of a guy who napped for hours and doesn’t know what time it is now. He pads away from his sight and into the forest — probably to empty his bladder — and Shinsuke wonders if that’s when he should take his leave.

Gintoki eventually comes back, one ration in hand and a bottle in the other, and disappears inside the tent. Shinsuke spends the whole night there.

Shinsuke doesn’t mention it the next morning, of course. Nor the one after that. That’s not anyone’s business — and also, if people knew, then it’d be harder to keep doing it every chance he gets.

He doesn’t know why that one incident is what triggered this in him, but the one thing he’s sure of is that suddenly, Gintoki’s safety is not something he’s willing to gamble on. He trusts him on the battlefield, but he’s still not too far away, right where he can delegate and rush over if the situation turns dire. He takes every opportunity he gets to advance to the front line and protect his friend’s back. If Gintoki goes to town, he goes too. If Gintoki chooses to stay in camp, he shall rest as well.

It doesn’t even look like he noticed, though. He still takes every opportunity to shit on his height, or make fun of his so-called richness, and Shinsuke knows him enough that if Gintoki had felt any change in their relationship, he would’ve been straightforward about it. If anything, Shinsuke finds him too relaxed for the situation they’re in. Even Zura thinks so.

“You should probably try to lie low for a while there, Gintoki”, he even says one day as they tread back to camp after an entire afternoon spent looting an enemy stronghold they managed to catch earlier that morning. “Getting popular with our allies is good, but the enemy might try to target you to destroy everyone’s spirit.”

Shinsuke simply turns his eyes towards his friend's back. He's walking in front of them, one hand on the handle of his sword and his back as straight as an arrow, and shrugs dismissively. “They can target me. I’ll kill them all.”

His eyebrows tick when he hears this. “You’re not invincible.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. But as long as they think I am and the small fry in their ranks shit themselves when they see me, that’s good enough.”

“What the hell, did fame get to your head already?” he sneers.

This time, Gintoki turns around to look over his shoulder, bored eyes glaring at him. “‘Fame’? I’m just a killer.”

“You’re a hero of the Joui, dipshit. They already gave you a nickname, too.”

He rolls his eyes, unimpressed. Zura comments: “Shiroyasha certainly gives you some prestige. If the enemy hears about it, some of the most ambitious ones will go exclusively for your head, whether it’s for money or for the fame that comes with slaying a legendary soldier.”

“They can try,” he snorts like the brat he is, turning back to watch where he’s walking.

Shinsuke is not having it, though. He adds, somber: “You really don’t mind? Being called a demon again.”

Gintoki keeps on walking and doesn’t say anything. Shinsuke catches him though — he sees the way his hand clenches on the handle. And he doesn’t need to hear it to understand.

Why would he mind, if that’s the truth?

It only gets worse after that. Their fellow soldiers stop calling Gintoki by his real name, and he doesn’t try to correct them. Soon enough, they hear the nickname being whispered between the amantos and imperial troops facing them. Some say it with spite, others stammer it. Still, there’s no doubt anymore. Everyone knows who Gintoki is.

Thankfully, he and Zura are on the same wavelength there — they know Gintoki won’t do anything about it, so their only choice is to work their ass off and earn their own titles and glory. Shinsuke scouts each town, looking for the most vicious and revenge-hungry kids he finds who can hold a katana, and makes a whole squad of them. Zura observes the politics of their own camp and discreetly earns himself a good reputation as a strategist. Soon enough, one of the commanders dies and he gets appointed to replace him despite being a newbie. Jealousy rises, all the better ranked soldiers seethe at the idea that some haughty soldier who keeps telling everyone what his name is could lead them and not the opposite. However, the plot to eliminate him doesn’t last once it is established that his right and left hands are the virulent Kiheitai’s leader and Shiroyasha. They only need to loom menacingly, a few steps behind him, to make most of these fools back off.

Eventually, Shinsuke admits to himself that Gintoki was right — they benefit from this situation. He still dislikes the fear in people’s voice when they talk about Gintoki, but he proved that he could indeed handle himself perfectly despite his newfound renown on the battlefield. Shinsuke also doesn’t mind the fact that they all have their own tents now, as commanders or vice-commanders. It makes it harder to keep an eye on his silver-headed friend at times, but he makes sure the flap of his tent is always slightly open and turned towards the one he wants to protect so bad.

That is until he realizes that Gintoki often doesn’t come back at night.

At first, he doesn’t think much of it, especially once he catches him treading back in the early morning with the limp of a man who drank too much. However, by the third time this happens, he immediately goes to scour camp and finds nothing. Where could he be? With who? Is he drinking on his own? That wouldn’t be surprising, but he still wishes he could find him — just to settle his nerves. If Gintoki is doing something, then Shinsuke wants to know what it is, and with what company. It is not debatable.

One night, they go to town with about five or so of his men, and he decides that he’ll take advantage of Gintoki’s inebriated state to cook him alive and make him talk. However, he realizes that his soldiers, instead of leaving them to their own business, lost their nerves thanks to the alcohol in their system and they quickly get all over his friend. They keep pouring him drinks, they say he’s their hero, that he’s the pride of the Joui, and Gintoki eats it all up. Shinsuke eventually leaves them to their party. He’s not in the mood anymore, anyway.

He goes back to the small ryokan they settled in for the night — the three of them sharing a room. Zura is already asleep, and he figures it won’t be long before he follows him. Still, he tries to stay on alert in case Gintoki comes back early. If he takes too long, he’ll go fetch him.

He doesn’t need to — because an hour or so later, the door to their room slides open slowly. He discreetly opens an eye and watches his friend stumble towards their bags. They’re neatly aligned on the wall, right behind their heads in case they need to grab their weapons during the night. However, that’s not what Gintoki is looking for. He grabs something Shinsuke can’t see from the angle he’s in, and then does something that steals his breath — he pushes his yukata upwards and lowers his underwear to bury it in his backpack. Then, he grabs his towel, what smells like soap, and leaves.

Shinsuke stays still for a very long time there. He thinks he’s shaking. However, he can’t stand the question that twirls around his head for too long — he needs to know. He quietly rolls off his futon, pushes a hand inside Gintoki’s bag and quickly finds the only item that’s still warm with body heat. It’s hard to see in the darkness of the room. But he doesn’t need light to figure out what the tacky moisture covering the inside of Gintoki’s underwear could be. He can smell it. And he can connect the dots easily.

He also knows that those fluids are not only Gintoki’s.

Icy fury runs through his veins, as he almost tears the underwear in two. He cannot move, as he remembers the sight of Gintoki surrounded with men, laughing and drinking with them. Men getting touchy with him. Men who don’t hesitate to curl their arms around him. Men who look at him like he hung the moon in the sky — like he’s someone special.

Oh, Gintoki is special, for sure. And Shinsuke swears to any god listening that he’ll cut off the hands of all the people who dared to touch him.

Shinsuke forgets any shame. The next morning, he asks Gintoki if he had fun last night, and the red on his cheeks says it all. Then, he asks each of the men that were there on that night if they’re the one who did it, and two of them come clean. They sputter and confess that they were drunk and pent-up, that they didn’t have any bad intentions towards his friend and that it was just one night, that they would never do that while sober. That Shiroyasha asked them if they were interested, that Shiroyasha insisted.

Now, Shinsuke needs to live with the picture of Gintoki stuck between two men, begging for their cocks, and it disgusts him. To think he’d fall so low he’d let the first guys he meets bang him and would even let them come inside him. One probably took his ass while the other had his mouth, all the while his childhood friends were sleeping a few rooms away. Shinsuke cannot believe he did that with strangers even though he is right fucking there.

He tells the two men to meet with him on the frontline a few days later, right where he knows a patrol of amantos often passes by. They never come back to camp — not that they could, what with their internal organs now spilled on the ground.

A few weeks later, he feels like throwing up when they’re all around the campfire for dinner and he catches Gintoki discreetly leaving to follow a guy whose name he probably doesn’t even know. Zura notices something is wrong, but he says nothing — all the while Shinsuke gets up and tries to follow them into the forest. He can’t find them. He recognizes the guy’s face the very next day, begging for help because he’s stuck under a fallen tree and broke his leg. He puts an end to his misery with the heel of his boot.

The obsession reaches a point when he starts thinking Gintoki is fucking someone every time he loses sight of him. Even on the battlefield, the moment he shakes off the adrenalin and starts looking around for his friend, he imagines him knees in the dirt, armor on the ground, chest and ass bare while an amanto takes him raw, like an animal — and grunts because he feels himself throbbing in his pants at the very simple idea. He shakes it off by slicing off the head of the first creature he sees, and opening the guts of every man he spots with Gintoki after lights out.

He knows he needs to expel all of this accumulated tension somehow. If he doesn’t, he’ll explode, or do something he’ll regret. But he cannot for the life of him imitate Gintoki. Shinsuke knows he’ll wonder if the one he’s sleeping with also did it with his friend, and his thirst for body heat will turn into thirst for blood.

He gladfully accepts when another night out to town is planned — especially when the guys in charge decide to go to the red-light district. He can be satisfied knowing nothing much will happen that night except for a few drinks — no one here has the money to pay for more than that. Also, it’s the perfect moment to get to know the new guy who joined them, Tatsuma. Sure, he didn’t exactly like ending covered in his puke for their first meeting, but he can at least rest easy knowing Gintoki will probably not try to fuck that one.

The four of them stay together the entire night, in a private room without the other soldiers — and they have a real good time, he can admit that. Tatsuma is insane, but he’s really funny, too. It’s a nice change to meet a guy who’s joining them for business, who isn’t looking for revenge or for patriotic reasons. Sure, he’s kind of a rich kid who has a lot to learn, but Shinsuke decides to believe he’s a genuine good guy and a friend.

Truly, it feels like a perfect evening when he even manages to have a discussion with Gintoki that doesn’t end up with them at each other’s throat. It’s like he can finally unwind, in the company of his friend. They eat and they drink, they discuss anything that doesn’t involve the war, they reminisce about some days spent at Shouka Sonjuku. He can look at him all he wants — his silver curls darkened by sweat, the red spark in his irises, the dimple in his cheek when he laughs. Gintoki eventually notices. He raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Shinsuke pretends he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “What, what?”

“What’cha looking at?”

Any other day, Shinsuke would probably look away immediately. But he doesn’t, right then. He blinks lazily, his eyes still boring into every detail of Gintoki face — which is getting closer and closer. “I’m looking at you. That’s what polite people do in conversations.”

“You must be really polite, then.”

Shinsuke can feel his breathing getting deeper. He doesn’t know when, but his hand ended up on the tatami behind Gintoki’s back — to support him as he keeps leaning closer. He can’t look at anything other than his friend’s lips, now. He wants to taste them so bad. He wants to bite them, turn them cherry red, make them bleed with his teeth. He wants Gintoki to open wide for him, and swallow everything he has to give — jizz, spit, blood, his cock, his tongue, his sword. His heart tumbles around his chest, as the ground opens beneath him. He only has a few centimeters left to breach, and Gintoki is not backing off. This is it.

Or so he thought, because a heavy arm falls on his shoulder, a grating laugh makes his ear ring, and Tatsuma drops right between them. “Ooooh, you guys just love to fight, huh? C’mon, it’s such a lovely night, let’s all be friends! I even have a surprise for y’all!”

Shinsuke is still trying to process everything that just happened — everything that could have happened if Tatsuma didn’t fucking butt in — when the door to their dining room opens and a few women come in.

“I know you told me to keep my money, but we’re in the red-light district so we have to follow their customs. All these four fine ladies here will stay for an hour — no touching though! Only pleasant conversation and drinks...” Then, he stage-whispers: “Except if you’re rrrreally persuasive, ehe. You could get a kiss on the cheek if you deserve it.”

He feels like the room starts spinning. He doesn’t want to spend the night with any of these ladies — no matter how beautiful and graceful they are. He was so close. Gintoki could’ve been his, at last.

However, the feeling is definitely not mutual. Gintoki immediately starts whooping and claps Tatsuma on the back with a grin, eyes sparkling as he looks over the maiko in front of them. He and Zura get up to chat with the courtesans, already bantering over who should drink with whom. Tatsuma notices that Shinsuke hasn’t moved. “Hey, are you too drunk to get up? C’mon, you gotta say hi.”

Tatsuma grabs the other man from under the biceps to drag him to his feet, and then, he drapes himself over his shoulders to chuckle: “Or maybe you’re too starstruck? You wouldn’t be the first. They say that a man’s true worth is valued by how low he’s willing to bow so the finest ladies can walk on him to keep their shoes unstained.”

Shinsuke never heard that before, and he doesn’t care if Tatsuma made it up or not. He wants to leave. He hates this situation. The night was going so well. He had so much fun. He could feel himself unwind, at last. And now, when he sees Gintoki chatting with one of the smallest girls, he feels all of his bitterness rise back to the surface.

“C’mon,” Tatsuma insists. “Which one do you want?”

He slowly raises a finger, and everyone in the room quiets down. Zura gapes, eyes jumping between his two friends — because yes, his index finger is pointing at Gintoki — but Sakamoto’s laugh cuts him off. A moment later, an incredulous Gintoki roars: “Fuck off shortie, I chose her first!”

Of course they’re all so drunk they think Shinsuke wants the same girl as he does. And of course he doesn’t correct him. He jerks away from Tatsuma’s arm, gets closer to the courtesans, and immediately starts arguing with Gintoki over who gets to spend the next hour with the poor girl who’s only doing her job.

She eventually settles the dispute and chooses Shinsuke — and he actually feels satisfaction in his belly when he sees how angry Gintoki is. They even decide they’re better off going to a private room, and he hopes Gintoki thinks they’re going to fuck. He hopes he’s jealous. He hopes he’s miserable. If he’s lucky, he’ll still be furious in a few hours and they’ll get to settle that with their fists.

That hour spent with the maiko is agonizing to say the least — but at least he gets to drink more booze and he spews everything that’s on his mind. He obviously doesn’t mention his deeper thoughts and fantasies. He doesn’t say that if she wasn’t there then he’d probably be in a dark alleyway, fingers buried in silver hair to better fuck his friend’s skull and brand him as his. He doesn’t say that the idea of Gintoki touching a woman makes him sick. He doesn’t say that when he saw him smile like a kid at the simple idea of hanging out with a maiko, right after Shinsuke almost kissed him — it broke his heart.

That’s all Gintoki’s been doing these past months. When he ran into danger and made him think he died. When he slept with half of his squad. When he chose to bury his feelings in sex and alcohol instead of reaching for the people who love him the most.

He slams his fist on the table and topples the teacups over. The young woman lets out a squeak of fear. However, he’s not even looking at her. He doesn’t care. He seethes under his breath that she should leave, quickly, and she obeys. The moment the door closes, he breaks down and covers his face with his hand.

Shinsuke feels the phantom touch of a large hand on his shoulder, soft but firm — and he starts crying.

Sometimes, they talk about what they’ll do once the war is over. Tatsuma has stars in his eyes as he tells them about space, about infinity, about possibilities. Zura takes a while to think about it, and eventually mentions opening a business in the city. He’s unsure whether he wants to wield a katana ever again, once this is all over. Gintoki seems to kinda agree, although he admits he doesn’t know how to do anything other than that. Tatsuma then tell him it’s the opposite — he could probably do anything, as long as he tries. Gintoki huffs, calls him an idiot, but is flattered nonetheless.

Shinsuke says he’ll follow in Shouyou’s footsteps and open a school for the children who can’t afford it. However, that’s not the end of it. Because when he dreams of it, he’s not alone, running that school. First of all, Shouyou is here, obviously. He’s not but a mere specter in the corner of his vision anymore — he’s here, in the flesh, he grows old, and Shinsuke is there to take care of him. They are there to take care of him.

All three of them could easily run a decent school. They wouldn’t even need to always stay in the same place, they could move out every few years, once the children do not need them anymore. They would need to settle down eventually, because Shouyou would be too old to travel — and he would have a peaceful death, surrounded with the children he raised and loved. Grandchildren, too, why not. He knows they’ll eventually stumble on a stray who has nowhere else to go — like the ones they were before.

They’d be happy. They wouldn’t be rich, they wouldn’t have a big house, but they’d be together. They would try to change the world with what little they can do, in the grand scheme of things.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but when Shinsuke thinks of the future, he only sees Gintoki.

Gintoki hasn’t been himself for a few days. He’s quiet, and has less energy than before. For a moment, Zura is afraid he might be coming down with a cold or something of the sort, but he quickly gets dismissed — Gintoki is fine. He tells them he just wants to be alone for a little while and leaves dinner early.

Obviously, Shinsuke disagrees and follows him anyway — but Gintoki just goes back to his tent and doesn’t move for the entire night.

He stops drinking with everyone else. He stops going to town. Eventually, everyone just goes back to their own business and tells them that they’re overthinking it. Shiroyasha is as lethal as ever. He’s still feared and admired everywhere he goes. He still gets an equal amount of anxious and hungry gazes when he’s not looking. But he doesn’t take advantage of it like he did before.

Shinsuke eventually decides to take the matter into his own hands. He’ll make Gintoki talk. That’s why he decides to break away from his own troop after a particularly gruesome fight against moth-likes amantos to follow reinforcements going towards the frontline — right where Shiroyasha is, attracting most of the attention while the Kiheitai is destroying the ambush that was going straight for home base. He discreetly gets rid of his jacket, steals a helmet from a corpse, and runs into the undergrowth where the main fights are taking place.

Rain has started falling about an hour ago and the entire forest floor is muddy beyond recognition. Most people here are covered in dirt from head to toe, and it’s hard to distinguish who is who — except for the man in white and red who’s currently resting, back against a tree while he watches them approach. They didn’t need reinforcements — not a surprise — but they’ll stand still until they get the signal to advance or retreat. In the meantime, they should just dress their wounds, eat a bit, and stay as dry as possible under the pine trees.

No one pays attention to Shinsuke, unsurprisingly. After all, he’s perfectly healthy despite the mud covering his face. He stays far away, sipping on his canteen while he keeps an eye on Gintoki who is gathering water to rinse blood off his face. He curses when he feels something dripping on his face — until a peaceful hand on his shoulder makes him stop moving to remove the piece of gut from his silver locks.

Gintoki stills, clearly uncomfortable, but doesn’t jerk away. Shinsuke immediately ducks behind a large trunk and strains his eyes towards the other man who he doesn’t recognize. He knows Gintoki’s friends and he’s not one of them. Another lover? Is he the one who’s turned him like this? Shinsuke is already planning the moment he’ll dispose of him.

Gintoki eventually turns away and — luckily for him — decides to take shelter under the tree behind which Shinsuke is hidden. He stays very still, praying no one will notice his presence. The rain falls even harder. Everyone scatters around the forest, and it’s almost hard to see beyond the curtain of water. He still hears it, when a set of footsteps start running towards them and breaches through the torrential downpour.

“Man, don’t leave me alone like that,” the guy groans, dripping from head to toes. “You have a towel?”

“What do you think?” Gintoki grunts, clearly annoyed to see the newcomer.

“Hey, I’m just asking. What crawled up your ass and died?”

“I’m cold. And you won’t leave me alone.”

Shinsuke has to fight the urge to grab his sword. His friend can’t know that he’s here. He needs to stay still and listen. If Gintoki has been down because of a stalker, he’ll take care of it. Later. The other man immediately snaps back: “Yeah, no shit I’m not leaving. You’re being irrational.”

“Another one died a week ago. It’s not a fucking game.”

The guy sighs, and from the sounds of it drops on the ground next to Gintoki. “How many people have you slept with, again?”

“Does it matter? They all drop like flies,” he whispers back furiously, with a slight tremor shaking his voice.

“Well, I didn’t.”

“For now.”

Oh. Shinsuke finally understands what’s going on. Gintoki noticed what he’s been doing. His rampage against anyone who he suspected of sleeping with his friend. He really thought he was always too drunk or lost in lust to remember the guys he had sex with, but he was wrong.

“Well, what if I was the answer, then? Did you sleep more than once with any of them?”

Gintoki actually barks a laugh at that. “You’re nothing. We’re nothing. Period.”

Silence answers him. The pitter-patter of the rain overwhelms everything else. When the guy answers, he sounds choked-up: “You’re right. I’m nothing. I’m nothing compared to you. No one will cry if I die.” Then, he takes a deep breath. “But I won’t. Because war killed the people you slept with, Gintoki. Not you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He lets out a sniffle, and a cough, both followed by more heavy silence. Shinsuke just stares up ahead, trying to picture what they must look like. If Gintoki is looking away with his arms crossed. If the guy is actually crying, or if his eyes are just glassy.

“...you’re pretty when you’re upset, Susumu. That’s unfair.”

Gintoki’s voice lost its edge, suddenly. He speaks lower, almost down to a murmur. Shinsuke barely hears it. It’s almost covered by the throb of his own heartbeat, when he hears how tenderly his friend calls this other man.

Fabric rustles against the bark of the tree, and the sound that follows is unmistakably one of a kiss. There’s no struggle, no groans — Gintoki is not fighting back. He might’ve been the one who initiated it. This time, he can barely decipher the words that follow : “...just wanna…”

“You don’t,” Gintoki answers in a hush. “You barely know me.”

“I don’t care.”

Shinsuke wishes he felt sick, at that moment. Just like he felt sick when Gintoki was talking to the maiko. Or when he first found out about his escapades. But he just feels empty. He doesn’t regret what he did to those guys — he doesn’t even remember them anyway. However, he never wanted to bring Gintoki this kind of sorrow. All this time, it was about protecting him — it was about preservation. It was about jealousy.

He blinks through a layer of tears and looks upward. Behind the downpour, he sees a familiar silhouette. He can’t see his face, he can’t see his sword — he’s but a smear of warm colors blending in with the rain and the leaves. But Shouyou is watching him. He knows what he’s doing. And he slowly shakes his head, disapproving.

Shinsuke takes a step back. He stops following Gintoki everywhere he goes — only when he’s in the vicinity. He stops watching him like a hawk — at least not as much as before. And he doesn’t kill the man named Susumu, even when he catches him sneaking inside Gintoki’s tent one night.

Still, it’s not like he can simply do nothing and simply forget all these past months. So he starts observing Susumu instead. Just to make sure he can be trusted.

From what he gathered, between Zura’s intel and what he heard around camp, Susumu was studying the blade in a dojo to the west of Kyo and joined the war to follow his master, who died a while back during an ambush. Since then, he’s been a good soldier of the anti-invasion forces despite not having a lot of feats to his name. He’s here because he literally has nothing else, like a lot of his comrades. Unlike them, Yoshida Shouyou’s students.

He always keeps a respectable distance from Gintoki, and Shinsuke has never seen them interact right in front of his eyes — even if he knows they often meet up behind his back. He feels like that’s not right, though. Gintoki shouldn’t hide anything from them. He shouldn’t be afraid to at least hang out with him, in fear of some kind of divine punishment.

That’s why he might’ve let it slip while Tatsuma was not too far away that Gintoki had made a new friend and he has yet to introduce him to them. It works like clockwork. That same evening, a very awkward looking Susumu is forced to sit down right next to Gintoki in front of the campfire, while Zura just goes on and on about how soba’s texture can ruin or make a dish while Tatsuma laughs in his ear. Shinsuke spends the entire time staring at the newcomer, or bickering with Gintoki who refuses to acknowledge anything that’s happening.

He manages to catch him right after dinner, when Gintoki stomps away with an angry look on his face, right towards the storage tent in which they keep all the booze. Susumu looks surprised, and also a little bit anxious, but he doesn’t shy away when Shinsuke asks him if their relationship is serious, or if it’s yet another tryst. He takes a moment to reply, lost in his own thoughts, and finally articulates: “I’ll be whatever he wants me to be. I don’t wanna be a burden, if that’s your question.”

It annoys him — because it’s a good answer. So he nods, and leaves it at that.

Susumu is a quiet guy. He obeys orders without a fight and he’s always up to the task. His swordplay is decent and he’s not too bad with a firearm either. He should be absolutely unremarkable — from his smaller stature to his dark straight hair he keeps in a small ponytail. But his eyes are what makes Shinsuke falter. Years of war under his belt, but his eyes have not been harrowed by it. They’re still bright and hopeful, albeit not naive. He fights like someone who has nothing to lose, like he knows he’ll eventually make it out alive.

He sees them together, once. In retrospect, it’s surprising it’s the first time he actually catches Gintoki in the act, considering how much company he had in a few months. Someone decent would’ve immediately left and pretended they never saw anything — but someone decent wouldn’t have been trailing them in the first place.

He just needs to know what it looks like. He tells himself that this is how he’ll finally move on. The truth, however, is that he’s curious. He wants to find a reason, any reason to make Susumu run away. He can’t kill him, but he can still get rid of him.

Gintoki was hurt earlier that day — a bullet grazed his side — so he’s just laying down on his cot, delirious with morphine while Susumu sucks him off. Gintoki is so lost in the haze that he doesn’t notice Shinsuke crouching in front of the tent, looking through the slit between the flaps.

Susumu raises his head with a resonating sucking sound, and groans: “You’re too loud. Your friends might hear us.” The only thing he gets as an answer is a giggle, followed by a moan for more. “Takasugi-san might hear us.”

“So what?” his companion keeps on laughing, words slurred by the medicine. “He thinks I’m a slut already. ‘s not gonna change anything.”

“He’s the only one who likes me and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Stop talking about him,” Gintoki whispers while he grabs his lover by the back of his hakama to drag him against his lips.

Their kiss is filthy, Susumu quickly lost to his friend’s hazy lust, especially when he pushes a hand inside his pants to pull his cock out. The soldier turns frantic, like he’s running out of time, and pushes Gintoki’s legs open, spits down, to thrust inside and make his partner throw his head back with a cry.

It’s animalistic. It doesn’t have any tenderness. It’s a desperate embrace, of two men who want nothing other than to feel things, in the midst of a never ending conflict that they probably cannot win. There’s nothing but grunts and bites and whispered insanities, to forget about the looming threat of gigantic ships and artillery that would decimate them in a matter of hours. There’s no love in there.

Shinsuke knows he shouldn’t, but he cannot help but think about all the things he would do if he was in Susumu’s shoes. He would open Gintoki with his tongue, prostrate himself and give him so much pleasure he’d cry, until there’s nothing on his mind other than Shinsuke. He would grab him by the waist, to see the imprint of his fingers on his tanned skin, to admire the way his cock sways with every thrust, to see his pre-cum paint his abs, begging for him to make him see stars. He would kiss him deeply, slowly, so his taste stays in his mouth for hours after they’re done. He’d make him say his name. Say who he belongs to.

He’d make Gintoki love him, by force if necessary. He would never be a simple way to pass the time and forget the world they live in.

A week or so later, Shinsuke takes Susumu with him for a scouting mission. They’re not too far from the frontline, but there are so many bodies around there that the enemy also left the area alone. It smells like rot and puke and viscera — a smell no one should ever get used to. They finally reach the other side of the hill and rip off their makeshift masks to breathe more easily, before they settle on a slope with their binoculars and their maps, to write down any enemy movement. They work efficiently. Susumu is one of the few educated soldiers they have, after all — he’s a good element. Shinsuke might hate him, deep down, he still knows they’re better off with him on their side.

They wrap up as the sun starts to touch the earth, covering them and the battlefield in a warm orange light. It’s about time they go home, if they want to reach home base before nightfall. They start their trek down the hill, when Susumu stops him. “Can I ask you something?”

He turns around and raises one eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.

“It’s really not much,” he reassures him with a timid smile. “But Gintoki won’t tell me when his birthday is, so I thought I could just ask you.”

Shinsuke lightly rolls his eyes. “I’m not surprised, he doesn’t like celebrating it. Anyway, it’s on the tenth of October.”

“Fuck, I did miss it then! Son of a bitch.”

He snorts. “What? You wanted to do something special? Buy him a gift?”

Susumu shrugs, his eyes lowered as he starts walking again to catch up with him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

They resume their stroll back home in silence. That is, until Shinsuke breaks it again: “I answered your question, so it would be fair if you answered one of mine, don’t you think?”

Susumu blinks, visibly surprised, but he beams like he’s glad Shinsuke is interested in him. “Sure. Honestly, you can ask me whatever you want. I don’t have much to hide.”

“Well, the opposite is not exactly true, so I’ll keep it to that one,” he says with a somber grin. “Would you let him go, if he decided he wants to be with someone else?”

Susumu immediately loses his smile. His eyes stay bright, but a wary look deepens his face. “Why would you ask that?”

“Why not?”

“I wouldn’t.”

This takes him by surprise. He stops in his tracks, a frown taking over his face while Susumu stays straight as an arrow, defiant and assertive. Shinsuke’s next words are hushed: “You said you would be whatever he wants you to be. That you didn’t want to be a burden.”

“I did. And I still do. But from your phrasing, I assume it means I would give up on him without a fight — and that’s not happening.”

Shinsuke immediately darkens. He doesn’t like where this is going. “And what kind of fight do you think you can win, exactly?”

“I know him. I know what he needs. And I care about him too much to just leave.” He bristles. “What’s with this question anyway? Does he have a fiancée I’ve never heard about? Is he cheating on me?”

A barking laugh escapes him, and Susumu pales a little bit. Shinsuke ends up shaking his head. “He has no one.” Then, he drops one hand on the other man’s shoulder, which tenses briefly. “After all, I got rid of them all.”

Susumu blinks. He looks lost, for a moment. Then, he connects the dots and jerks backwards — or tries, because Shinsuke keeps a strong grip on his jacket.

“You… you can’t be serious,” he laughs nervously.

“Why wouldn’t I be? They were ants,” he spits. “Attracted to the smell of sugar, the taste of fame and the thrill of ghost stories. They only wanted to use him, beckoned by a gaudy nickname, and they made him believe he’s only good for that. That he doesn’t deserve more or better; that after all, a demon like Shiroyasha is only good for war, for blood, and for quick fucks.”

The words leave him without even thinking, and he actually feels lighter now that he said them aloud. Susumu, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to pass out.

“So I’ll ask you this, Susumu,” Shinsuke continues, with a lighter but nonetheless threatening tone. “Do you think you deserve to be with Sakata Gintoki? Do you think you’re allowed to be with my best friend? The most remarkable person you’ll meet in your entire life? The greatest man I’ve ever known? Do you feel worthy?”

He sees fear, in the eyes of the soldier. He sees his lips quiver. He sees disgust. And then, he sees pride.

“I’ve never been like them, and I’ll never be. I love him. Truly.”

Shinsuke breathes slowly. He lets the words echo in his head. The grip he had on the man’s jacket falters, and Susumu’s shoulders finally relax. Shinsuke parrots: “You love him?”

He enthusiastically nods, relief and honesty painted all over his face. “I do. I really do.”

The last word has barely left his lips that Shinsuke uses the hunting knife that was hidden in his sleeve to stab upwards — right through the right side of Susumu’s throat. The blade breaks through his jaw and facial bone to reach his eyeball that almost comically pops out. The skin becomes hollow, takes on a shade of gray, as the slick sound of blood dripping and the crunch of bones echo on the empty hill that’s now covered in darkness.

Shinsuke winces, and slowly shakes his head. “Wrong answer.”

Susumu lets out a hiss, a gurgle, before Shinsuke swiftly removes his weapon to let the blood pour out like a broken faucet, and he falls down, face against the earth. He twitches as he quickly loses blood through the neat cut of his carotid, one blind eye staring into nothingness while the other is pressed against the earth. He can barely say anything, tongue and jaw so badly damaged he can’t move his mouth — and he dies just like that. Like all the others.

Shinsuke watches life leave his body, and slowly breathes out. God dammit. His feelings got the best of him. Oh, well. He wipes his blade on Susumu’s sleeve, sheathes it back, and then grabs his rifle to conveniently explode what’s left of his head — just in case a medic insists and wants to look at the body instead of just dumping it into the pyre.

He brings the body back to home base, wrapped up in both of their coats to avoid getting cerebral matter in his hair. Zura is the first one to see him, and he runs to go find Gintoki, who arrives while Shinsuke is lowering the body in a bag, in the tent that serves as a mortuary.

His eyes are wide, bordering on panic. He mumbles, like he doesn’t understand: “What happened?”

Shinsuke slowly gets up, and Gintoki’s visible distress gets to him — because once again, he didn’t want to hurt him. He never wanted any of that. “I’m sorry,” he says, and that part is true. “An amanto followed us to the hill, waited for us to go down to ambush us. He got Susumu before we could get cover. I’m so sorry, Gintoki.”

“I…” He shakes his head, lips tight and anger making his fists shake. “I’m fine. Did you get that bastard?”

“Of course. Speared that fucker onto a corpse, the crows and rats must’ve already started eating his liver.”

“Good. Did he…?” he adds before trailing off, nodding towards the corpse.

Shinsuke shakes his head. “He didn’t suffer.”

Gintoki takes a shaky breath, and swallows before he turns on his heels, ready to run off god knows where. Shinsuke, however, is faster than him and closes the flap of the tent with one hand to catch his friend with the other, and hug him as hard as he can. Gintoki curses, he weakly slaps his shoulder, but eventually sags against him, face burrowed against his neck. He gasps: “Fuck you, Takasugi.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“He was a good guy.”

“I know.”

“He deserved to live.”

“I know.”

He chokes on his saliva, torn between sobs and his rapidly quickening intakes of air that turn his voice to a rasp: “...I’m glad you’re okay.”

Shinsuke answers with a small nod, the sting of tears in his eyes, while Gintoki heaves and pants. Strong arms crush his ribs as panic takes over him and swallows him whole. Out of his vision, Shouyou sighs and turns away from them, so Shinsuke decides to close his eyes.

He gets over it. Of course he does — they don’t have a choice, here. Susumu’s body is thrown into the fire with all the others, and life goes on. Gintoki never mentions his name again.

Shinsuke expects Gintoki to once again take his distances, but it’s the opposite that happens — it feels like the three of them have never spent so much time together, at least not since the fire that changed the trajectory of their lives. They go on errands together in the city, they spar, they organize joined attacks, they play kick the fucking can. Gintoki has considerably eased on the booze and the sex, too. He’s started training more, gained a few pounds that settled as heavy muscles around his arms and shoulders. Shinsuke certainly noticed it when they went to bathe in the river — and he knows he’s not the only one.

They’ve all hit puberty a while ago, war has killed the children that they were — but Gintoki feels more like an adult than ever, now. And if Shinsuke didn’t have more pressing matters on his mind, like keeping himself and his squad alive, he knows that this realization would keep him awake at night — and it wouldn’t be to count sheep.

Then, one day, it happens. They finally get intel on Shouyou. He’s alive. And he’s waiting for them.

They have to hide their giddiness, though — no one knows that he’s the real reason why they joined this war. People cannot know that they’ll get the fuck out of this death trap the moment they finally get to bury themselves in Shouyou’s wide and warm arms again. They need to wait to be alone to finally let their emotions get the best of them — a cry of joy, a tear of relief rolling on a cheek, an exalted smile. They’re not allowed anything more than that. They still haven’t actually found him. They haven’t saved him yet. But they’ve never been so close.

It’s Gintoki who actually comes to find him a few hours later. Shinsuke has just wrapped up a meeting with the Kiheitai in the dilapidated temple a few miles away from home base, and then decided to stay there for a while to get rid of all his accumulated tension with some sword practice — it’s not the time to grow soft and make mistakes. He can’t afford to be one second late, the day he’ll finally be face to face with Shouyou’s jailers. But he stops in his tracks once he hears familiar footsteps, his heartbeat slowing down to better thrum against his ears when he sees his friend appear at the entrance of the temple, wooden sword in his hand, to address him a wry smile. “If I remember correctly, I still owe you a few ass beatings. It’s time to settle our score.”

Shinsuke lowers his own sword, and lets a chuckle escape him. “As if you’d forgotten. I reached 200 wins first. You’re still stuck at 198.”

“No time like the present to fix that, then.”

They lose themselves in their spars — going again and again after the other, the clash of wooden swords echoing in the empty temple, sweat dropping next to their naked feet, grunts and cries of exhaustion escaping them with each hit. His muscles are burning. His breath becomes ragged. He feels too hot, in his hakama.

Gintoki has never been more beautiful than in this very moment. With hope shining in his eyes.

Shinsuke feels like he loses grip on himself, for one second. He lowers his sword at the last moment to grab the other man with his free hand and make the two of them tumble onto the wooden floors. Gintoki lets out a curse, yelps when the back of his head hits the ground. “Asshole, that’s cheating—”

Gintoki’s words die in his throat when he feels Shinsuke’s fingers releasing his clothes, and the warm palm that comes to cover his lower jaw and the delicate skin of his throat, right next to his ear. His eyes widen. And Shinsuke gloats. “My win.”

He sees a spark of annoyance in the red eyes, and smothers it when he finally leans forward and crushes his lips against Gintoki’s. He immediately comes alive against him — like it’s yet another spar, like he feels like he’s losing if he simply lies down to enjoy it. He buries his hands in Shinsuke’s hair and tugs until he gasps in pain, and Gintoki immediately takes advantage of this to roll them over and get the upper hand.

Gintoki wrenches himself away when Shinsuke bites on his lip, straightening up and pushing on his knees until he freezes. Shinsuke needs a few seconds to catch his breath, dizzy and blood pulsing in his ears, but he eventually asks: “What?”

His friend looks like he just saw a ghost when he replies: “You got a hard-on just from that?”

Shinsuke blinks and then realizes that, oh, indeed, he’s hard and can feel Gintoki’s thigh pressing against him. He raises an eyebrow. “Unlike someone I know, I’ve not been fooling around with every pretty face I stumble upon.”

Anger flashes in his eyes and he finally moves away, leaving Shinsuke with his back on the floor — cold and still turned on. He gets up and grabs his sword, like he’s ready to leave without a single comeback. Shinsuke pushes on his elbow with a grunt. “Where are you going?”

“You think I’m a whore, I got the memo. Real cool of you, Takasugi.”

“When the fuck did I say that? Come back here!”

Gintoki doesn’t listen to him, and he needs to actually jump on his feet to run and catch him before he passes the threshold. Obviously, Gintoki isn’t in the mood to be dragged around anymore and pushes him away — to which Shinsuke retaliates, grabbing the other man until his back slams against the wall and makes the flames of the candles flutter. This time, however, Gintoki answers with a fist against his jaw.

They exchange blows, blood running down his temple when one well-placed uppercut opens his eyebrow. At one point, Shinsuke grabs him by the throat and Gintoki instinctively twists around to plunge his teeth into the meat of his forearm, which makes him release him with a gasp of pain. That’s when they finally stop — as if they just realized what they’re doing. They’ve not fought like this since they were what, twelve? Back when their hormones were running amok, that they felt like they had something to prove by making the other admit their defeat by any means necessary. Shinsuke blinks, completely taken out of the loop. “You bit me!”

Gintoki spits some blood. One of Shinsuke’s punches probably opened the inside of his cheek.  “Cry more, asshole, you were gonna strangle me! I won this round.”

The words echo in his ears and make his blood boil. He breathes slowly through his nose, glaring at the other man. “You didn’t win shit.”

“So you’re angry now?” Gintoki snaps back with a sneer. “That killed your boner? Oh, I’m so fucking sorry for you, midget.”

This time, when he lunges forward, Gintoki is ready for him — arms coming to catch him by the waist and press their bodies together while Shinsuke devours his mouth again. If the kiss from before was violent, this one is downright vicious. His canine pierces Gintoki’s lower lip, and he sucks violently until he can feel the metallic tang of his blood on his tongue, while the other slots their pelvises together and grinds hard. Shinsuke soon goes to cover Gintoki’s throat with bruises and blood, purple spots and teeth marks appearing on his tanned skin.

He feels the rumble of a moan right against his lips, and it’s like ecstasy injected right in his veins. He actually has to pant to catch his breath because he’s so hard it hurts — and he has to close his eyes when Gintoki even opens his belt to dive a hand inside his underwear. He gasps and whines, all of his anger fading like ice under the sun as he feels the rough pads of Gintoki’s fingers around his throbbing cock, each stroke like a spark along his spine, reducing him to something soft and pliable, a small creature made of pleasure and burning nerve endings, clinging to a rock of a man with a diabolically strong and rough hand job technique.

Shinsuke finds the strength to drag himself upwards and press his lips against Gintoki’s once again. He kisses him languidly, savoring every inch of his mouth, of his tongue and of his lips — and eventually manages to utter right against them: “You, too.”

Gintoki shivers hard when he hears his broken plea. His free hand frantically lowers his own pants, and Shinsuke finds out that his friend’s palm is big enough to encase them both with ease. The realization makes him quake, and he bucks his hips right inside the tight circle of Gintoki’s fingers, so close to coming now that he can also feel him against him.

They rut against each other like inexperienced teenagers, swallowing their moans with open-mouthed kisses, slick sounds of their erections and spit resonating in the temple. Pressure accumulates in Shinsuke’s belly when he thinks about how open they currently are — how anybody could easily stumble on them like this, mating like a bunch of horny animals, on sacred grounds.

He hopes that if anyone is actually watching, that they’re fucking jealous. Because now that he got this, he’s not letting it go.

Surprisingly, it’s Gintoki who comes first. He tries to warn him, his name swallowed by Shinsuke’s eager mouth as his arm crush their bodies together while his dick covers both their cocks and their clothes in white. The sight is so arousing — of Gintoki’s face going slack with pleasure, of his voice breaking on a sob that sounds like his name, of his hand losing all rhythm and stroking until it becomes painful — that he immediately follows with a heartfelt groan, squirming with wave after wave of pleasure that make his ears ring.

They need a very long minute to catch their breath — for their hearts to calm down and for clarity to come back to their brains. Only now does Shinsuke realize the state they're in: they’re battered, covered with blood, with semen. Their clothes are completely rumpled and ruined by the fights and sex that followed. Their lips are swollen beyond reason, their visible skin is bruised, and their dicks are still in the open, furiously red and wet, slightly twitching.

And Gintoki is watching him like he expects Shinsuke to release him, step back, get dressed and never mention it ever again.

He cannot let him think that. He cannot hide it any longer. Shinsuke lets out a very long breath, then reaches up to softly touch Gintoki’s cheek, just with the tip of his fingers. He stops right against his ear, on the soft hair of his temple, and his thumb slowly runs along the curve of his cheekbone, as he confesses: “You’re such an idiot. Why would you sleep with these guys when I was right there?”

He sees the shock in Gintoki’s eyes. Like the words as well as the tender stroke against his face hurts way more than all the blows they exchanged earlier. He frowns slightly, dumbfounded. “You didn’t say anything.”

“Like it’s fucking easy.”

He snorts. “More like you were scared I’d reject you.”

“And you would’ve,” he growls. “Don’t lie.”

Gintoki keeps a somber face, and that’s all Shinsuke needs to understand that he was correct. But honestly, he doesn’t care. He got what he wanted, in the end. That’s why he settles on patting his friend’s cheek before he finally steps back and tries to fix his outfit and wipe away the most incriminating spots. He hisses when he touches his forehead and remembers the open wound on his eyebrow. “Put your dick back in your pants and let’s go wash up. I have bandages in my tent, too.”

“You think I’m just gonna do what you tell me, after this?”

Shinsuke raises an eyebrow. Gintoki hasn’t moved, but he still looks as wary as before. As if Shinsuke is gonna jump him at any moment. “Well, you go to sleep wounded and covered in sweat, jizz and blood, that’s your choice. But I’m pretty sure you’re smarter than that.” And then, he adds for good measure — just because he knows it’ll hurt: “Surely that’s gonna help when we finally find sensei and you’re fucking feverish because you couldn’t be bothered to watch yourself when it mattered the most.”

The look Gintoki sends him is the darkest he’s ever seen. But he still gets his dick back in his pants, and follows him.

Shinsuke feels his eyes on him the entire time. When they undress to get in the cold water, when they dry themselves back on shore, when they settle in his tent to treat their wounds. But he doesn’t do anything. It’s clearly too early. Gintoki doesn’t trust him yet — he doesn’t think he actually meant it, before. He waits until he finally moves to leave to say: “Hey. Don’t forget what I said earlier. I’m always here.”

Gintoki narrows his eyes at him, one hand already on the flap of the tent. “What makes you think I’m interested?”

“I don’t think it. I know it.”

His eyebrows shoot up, mocking him. “What I know is that you’re a goddamn piece of work.”

“You’re not fooling anyone.”

“And what if I tell you all the guys I’ve slept with these past few months are dead?” he bites back, his tone still light despite how hard he’s clenching his jaw.

Shinsuke challenges his look. He doesn’t divert his gaze. He represses an ugly grin — because, oh, this is rich. And eventually replies with a clear voice and the most confidence he’s ever felt: “The only man who could defeat me is right in front of me. If I die, it’ll be by your hand. No one else’s.”

Gintoki swallows hard. He just nods. And then leaves, without adding anything.

Gintoki is too stubborn to take the first step. But he surrenders incredibly fast when Shinsuke offers to go back to the tents after they get dinner, the next day.

Shinsuke can actually feel his hands shake when his friend compliantly lies down on his back as soon as he tells him to do so. His intense stare never leaves his when he opens his yukata, when he lowers his underwear, and when he starts touching himself for Shinsuke’s eyes only, just because he told him to. He’s not ashamed of his own pleasure. He knows what he likes, what he wants. What his eyes tell him, however, is that he still has his doubts regarding Shinsuke — he still wonders if what he said was true, or if it was a whim, a lapse of judgement, a desperate move.

It is extremely arousing to think of all the ways he can now prove him wrong.

He decides to stay on his knees at the bottom of the sleeping cot and watch, first. He wants to learn. See with his own eyes what Gintoki likes, and how he wants it. He said it — there’s no room for mistakes anymore, and this is part of it. The future he dreamed of is so close he can almost taste it. In the corner of his vision, Shouyou feels closer than ever, hovering over his shoulder, watching them with a patient smile.

This is for him, too. All of this. This is how they will all find happiness, after everything.

“Finger yourself,” he says suddenly, his voice hushed and husky with desire. Gintoki stills, and sends him a confused look. He has to wet his dry lips to explain: “Show me how you use your hole. How many fingers. How deep. How fast. Show it to me.”

He sees that defiant stare again, and wonders if Gintoki is simply not used to being ordered around by his lovers or if this is for Shinsuke only. In any case, he does obey. He gets on his knees, turned around from Shinsuke, and starts rummaging around his belongings to find some lube. He doesn’t beat around the bush, too. As soon as his fingers are wet, he presses them against his hole and pushes inside, thighs clenching with what looks like pain.

Shinsuke wonders if he’s rushing it because he feels uneasy, if it’s the opposite and he’s too eager, or if he simply never had anyone going slow on him and doesn’t know how to properly open himself. It has to be the latter. He stays quiet though, and just keeps a note of it in a corner of his head. It’s not the right time to take the lead. Let Gintoki think he’s in charge because he’s the most experienced of the two. He’ll show him what he really needs later.

“How does it feel?” he asks under his breath, one hand already against his crotch, pressing but not really touching himself yet. “To do that in front of one of your oldest friends? Someone you grew up with?”

Gintoki grunts — oh, so maybe he truly likes it. Shinsuke’s hand clenches on the cloth of his yukata, his eyes laser focused on Gintoki’s fingers going in and out of himself. He’s rough, his wrist is quivering, At last, he manages to wrench his gaze away and realizes that Gintoki is watching him from over his shoulder.

He wants to see Shinsuke do it as well. And while he doesn’t want to look too desperate — he is, and barely hesitates. He opens his belt and pushes the hems back to reveal his loincloth, but doesn’t lower it yet. He’s fine just touching himself through his underwear for the time being.

At one point, Gintoki slows down to a stop, which pulls Shinsuke from his aroused daze. He raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t tell you to stop.”

“Well, I did it anyway, so get to work already. We don’t have all night.”

Shinsuke is hard-pressed to tell him that actually, they do have all the time in the world right now, but he knows this isn’t what this is about. He can read it all in his defiant gaze. Gintoki is still testing him, right now — he still has his doubts about Shinsuke and what he truly wants. Like Shinsuke is not currently burning holes through the mattress with how much he wants to say fuck it and ravage him right where he stands.

“What’s that? Didn’t think you wanted to get fucked so bad. What an impatient boy,” he teases with a dry smile, to hide the way his insides are currently boiling with desire.

“Yeah, well, it’d help if you didn’t look at me like that.”

Shinsuke is genuinely surprised by this. He didn’t realize his face was showing anything beyond lust. “Like what?”

Gintoki takes a second to answer, pulling his hand away to straighten up, on his knees and halfway turned towards Shinsuke. He glances down — and sure enough, Gintoki is still hard.

“Like…” He swallows. “Like you’ve been waiting for this for way longer than I thought.”

His words only stoke the fire raging inside him. Shinsuke has to wet his lips — his mouth is dry, parched, especially now that he knows the taste of Gintoki’s mouth. He resumes his strokes through his underwear. “Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know!” he groans. “I’m fucking lost, Takasugi, okay? For months, I thought you despised me, and now you—”

“Don’t blame me if you can’t take a fucking hint.”

“I didn’t even know you liked guys!” he finally snaps.

This time, Shinsuke scoffs, while Gintoki looks at him with wide eyes, in the expectation of his answer. He’s still hard, the tip wet, and the shaft lightly bobs like it’s begging him to do something. Shinsuke wants to feel it twitch against his tongue so bad.

“Well, I do, clearly,” he says slowly. “And I wasn’t mad at you — I was annoyed to see other people putting their hands on you.”

The look Gintoki sends him is doubtful, but it’s like he cannot stop the next words that come out of his mouth: “So you were jealous?”

He probably thinks this will light a fuse, that Shinsuke is going to bristle and deny it all. But this is so small, compared to what actually happened, that he just takes it in stride and lets the corner of his mouth curl up. “You have no idea,” he says as he finally breaks the distance between them and pulls Gintoki into a kiss.

His friend is still going with the flow, it seems — he doesn’t try to push him away or to get the upper hand. He obediently opens his mouth and lets Shinsuke inside, one hand awkwardly coming to rest on his shoulder while the other trails down his abs, to brush against his crotch. He wrenches his face away when he feels fingertips teasing an entry in his underwear: “You’re really testing my patience here.”

“I don’t know how you rich people do it, but it’s usually easier to fuck with no clothes on, y’know.”

“Who said I was going to fuck you?”

That’s enough to make him stiffen. Gintoki frowns, like this is the worst thing he heard this evening. “Huh? What the fuck are we doing, then?”

“Relax,” he whispers against his lips. “There’s no hurry, is it?”

He covers his mouth with his own before he has time to answer. It’s the truth though — he wasn’t planning on them having sex already, and he wants to explore his body first. Especially now that he knows Gintoki’s experience with anal sex was always rushed and probably painful.

Shinsuke drops his hand towards his friend’s ass and starts swirling his fingers around his hole — gathering leftover lube before dipping inside, just the tip of two fingers. Gintoki gasps and spreads his legs even more, almost sitting on Shinsuke’s thigh to eagerly meet his touch.

He sets an easy pace, slowly retracting his fingers to quickly push them back inside with a curl — and Gintoki’s reaction feels like a dream. He pants against the dip of his shoulder, his dick drooling against Shinsuke’s abs as his hole easily swallows the digits and squeezes them, begging for more. He’s silent except for his grunts, his face hidden, but his body speaks for itself. Shinsuke pushes a third finger inside, and feels the shiver that runs from his head to his toes.

“Do you like it when I touch you…” He pauses, fingers dipping as deep as possible to press against the burning walls, right behind his bladder. “Here?”

Gintoki lets out a strangled cry, his powerful arms almost bruising with how hard he’s holding onto his waist. He answers with a jerk of the head, a nod against his skin.

“So good you can’t say it out loud?” he teases, desire absolutely boiling in his guts and thickening his voice.

A shadow suddenly walks in front of the tent, and they both stiffen, turning completely still. Two soldiers are passing by, certainly to go to sleep or to have a drink on their own in the forest. Their footsteps fade into the distance, and they finally release their breath. Shinsuke slowly removes his fingers from Gintoki’s hole and whispers: “See why I don’t want to fuck tonight? Someone might hear us.”

“I can be quiet,” he retaliates.

“And what if I wanna hear you?”

Gintoki narrows his eyes. And then, after a moment to think, mutters — so quietly he almost misses it: “You’ll get to hear me another day.”

At long last, he catches his eyes. He looks almost bashful, with his face covered in blotches of red, his wet eyes and parted lips. He licks them, so quickly Shinsuke glances down without realizing it, like a moth attracted to a flame. He swallows, and tries to remember all the reasons why they shouldn’t.

He can’t think of a single good one anymore.

“In that case, I should probably gag you.”

Gintoki’s eyes start shining. If Shinsuke wasn’t already deeply in love, that’s probably when he would’ve fallen anyway.

He immediately turns around to grab the first thing they could use as a gag, which ends up being his battle belt, while Shinsuke discreetly takes off his own as well. Then, Gintoki kneels on the bed in front of him, opens his mouth as his friend slides the cloth around his head, and bites when he instructs him to. As soon as he’s done tying the knot, he pushes Gintoki’s back until he gets on fours, trails a hand down his arm, and whispers against his ear: “Give me your hand.”

The moment Shinsuke has his wrist in his hand, he pulls it backwards and locks it behind his back. Gintoki flails and immediately panics, turning his head around to send him a confused glare, but Shinsuke doesn’t care anymore — he asked for it, after all. He manages to tie his wrists behind his back, not too tight so he doesn’t actually get hurt, but just enough to make sure he won’t free himself too easily.

“You wanted to get fucked so bad, so I’ll deliver. I wanted to actually take my time with you and make it as pleasant as possible, but you’re too much of a brat for that, it turns out. So you’ll just shut up and take my cock for now.”

Gintoki visibly tries to say something from behind the gag, but it all dies in his throat when Shinsuke finally lowers his underwear, takes himself in a shaky hand, and thrusts inside. The silver head falls forward with a muffled cry, while Shinsuke stays still, eyes closed to revel in the feeling.

God, it’s his first time. That’s why he wanted to make it as perfect as possible. Gintoki even managed to make him forget that.

He didn’t think it would be so overwhelming, to be inside someone else like this. It feels like every nerve ending of his body has been shut off except for those in his dick and pelvis, from his taint to his lower belly, back to his rectum. All of them are taut, tingling, melting — and there are embers deep inside him that hiss and scream.

Take him. More. Everything. Until the world burns.

Maybe he’s the one who would’ve benefitted from being gagged, because he cannot for the life of him withhold the strangled sob that escapes him when he finally initiates the first thrust. He has to keep his eyes closed, head enclosed in heavy cotton as he pulls out for seemingly forever and sinks back with a harsh roll of his hips that echoes in the tent. Gintoki is so warm it hurts. He’s so tight it feels like he’s carving a way inside him. And he’s so wet and perfect around his dick he feels his eyesight getting blurry.

Shinsuke immediately forgets where he is, what will happen tomorrow, what has happened for months — he only knows that he wants, and he will obtain. His hands grab Gintoki’s tied up wrists just to keep his balance, while he thrusts hard and deep, hips cushioned by infinitely plush and firm ass cheeks. He gets completely lost in a powerful feeling of ownership, of taking and leaving nothing behind.

At last, he slows down, as the fog around his brain starts to evaporate. He blinks and manages to swallow despite his pants, and finally looks at Gintoki, face down in the pillow, barely moving, except for the deep breaths he takes through his nose. He asks: “Hey, you’re okay?”

Gintoki shakily nods, his face still hidden from him. Shinsuke smiles. Oh, he loves this.

He manages to get back to a less frantic rhythm, the clap of their skin still echoing in the tent and probably leaving no doubt as to what they’re doing, if there were any passersby. Gintoki has turned his head slightly to breathe better, but his eyes are closed and he starts to meet his thrusts eagerly, only stopping when Shinsuke snakes a hand around his waist to tease his cock, and feel it throb against his palm before leaving it alone.

As promised, he doesn’t make too much noise beyond grunts and a few escaped whines, but it’s like his body has gone lax. He doesn’t even struggle when Shinsuke pulls on his arms and straightens him up, his back against his torso and his head thrown back on his shoulder while he pummels his insides, thighs spread wide and trembling, sweat running down his scarred skin. Shinsuke lets out a curse and starts to kiss the curve of his exposed neck. Gintoki’s throat vibrates next to his ear, and he feels the pulse of his blood, running against his lips. The warm, pulsing proof that he exists, that he’s his, in a place where all emotions and life usually go to die.

“How does it feel?” he asks, unsure Gintoki can even hear him. “How does it feel to be mine, Gintoki?”

The long whine that follows confirms that he’s still with him. Shinsuke chuckles, emboldened by this reaction. “How does it feel to be reduced to nothing but a hole for my dick?”

Gintoki jerks hard, whines, whimpers. Despite the gag, he can hear his muffled word: “H’lease…”

It’s like a spark that runs all over his skin and raises his hair. Gintoki doesn’t beg, and here, he’s ready to do it — just for the sake of it. Shinsuke feels like he can say anything he wants, now.

“Tell me. How does it feel to get fucked by me, your best friend, and not by a random stinky soldier who can’t even finger you correctly? Do you like it?”

Gintoki nods hurriedly, the gag wet with his spit, with each of his labored pants.

“I watched you once, you know. I saw him, ravaging you like a beast, and I thought that if it was me, I would do better. That I would be tender, that I’d be good to you.” He snorts. “I guess I misunderstood. That’s precisely what you wanted all along. You like sex when it hurts.”

He gets another frantic nod, and even sees a tear escape Gintoki’s eyelashes to run down his nose. Shinsuke follows it as it rolls and gets lost in between his friend’s lips. 

“You wanted to be used. Broken. Dirtied.”

He whimpers, and, once again, shamefully nods. His eyes roll slightly when his admission makes Shinsuke fuck him harder.

“But you killed them,” he whispers hotly, like the nasty voice in Gintoki’s head. “You’re the one who used them. You’re the one who broke them.”

Gintoki is now sobbing, tears flowing down and gasps becoming choked-up cries. He’s wide open, and Shinsuke sees it all — everything Gintoki keeps to himself, everything he never says, because he’s just unable to be genuine when it matters; and they all know that it will be his downfall.

However, Shinsuke goes to untie his wrists and his mouth. He slows his thrusts. He licks the trail of tears. Then, he murmurs as Gintoki gasps, his mouth dry and tongue heavy:

“And it’s fine. They didn’t deserve you. They were tools of war, and served their purpose. You’re much more important than they’ll ever be — you’re so much more. And I can say that because in the end, you’re mine, and I decide whether you’re right or wrong.”

Gintoki sniffs and groans, blood coming back to his arms. He immediately grabs his dick and starts stroking desperately, while he sobs his name with a strained voice. Shinsuke watches him for a moment, mesmerized, stimulated by each suction of the hole, and keeps grinding hard.

“Your tears are mine. Your cock is mine. Your hole, your lips, your throat, your blood and your cum — they’re all mine now.”

Gintoki falls forward at last, back arched and one hand still furiously jerking himself as he chases his release. Shinsuke resumes his vicious thrusts. “Right? Say it, Gintoki. Are you mine?”

“Y-Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“I’m yours, Takasugi. I always was.”

He feels lightheaded. From his vicious strikes inside his friend’s hole, from the sight of him prostrated underneath him, from his words that finally, finally give him what he always wanted. And yet, he’s still not satiated.

“Did you ever think of me, when those wimps tried to satisfy you?”

Gintoki shakes his head, torn between his pleasure and his shame. His entire body is being raked with tremors, his arm moves frantically, his voice reaches a new high, when he admits in a small voice: “Yes… I wanted them to be you.”

That’s enough for both of them. Shinsuke selfishly chases his orgasm while Gintoki comes all over the sheets. He only lasts around three or four thrusts before he bends down and his body clenches as he empties himself inside his friend — each wave on the border of being painful, yet wonderfully perfect.

Shinsuke drapes himself on Gintoki’s back to catch his breath, arms loosely holding his waist, while the other struggles to stay on his trembling knees. He never came this hard in his entire life, which probably means nothing considering it’s his first time having sex — but it’s still overwhelming. Eventually, his friend rolls on his side, dragging Shinsuke with him with a little yelp.

He peers at the silver curls, and waits. His heart is still slamming against his chest, and his hands start to clammy up. Is it over? What does he do now? Honestly, he never really considered what he’d do next. He thought about sleeping with Gintoki so many times, he imagined his face lost in the throes of pleasure, his voice breaking on the last syllables of his name. But he never thought about the talk that would come after.

Because knowing Gintoki, he’ll try to deflect. He’ll go on with his life, as if nothing happened at all. He’s scared of change, he’s scared of feelings, and Shinsuke has to do something, or they might go back to step one.

“Gintoki?”

“M’yeah?”

“I meant everything I just said.” He gulps down, and tries to keep his voice as flat as possible as he tightens around him. “You’re mine, now. Got it?”

His friend sends him an annoyed look over his shoulder, as he clicks his tongue. He grumbles: “Of course you had to be a possessive son of a bitch. What did I get myself into…?”

Then, he simply turns his head again, away from Shinsuke who is perfectly still, and blinks. He waits. Gintoki doesn’t add anything. He doesn’t try to move away from his grasp. He lets him stay.

He stretches his neck and brushes his lips against the other’s neck, grazes his teeth on the tender skin of between his throat and shoulder until he feels a shiver travelling along his muscle. He wants to bite, but resists the urge. It’s not the right time. He’ll get to mark Gintoki another day. Still, he presses himself against the larger body, pushes his limp cock against the cleft of his ass, and answers, relief loosening his tongue: “Oh, terribly. And you’ll just have to deal with it.”

“Story of my life.”

He keeps rolling his hips against Gintoki’s backside and quickly finds himself excited again. He doesn’t even ask for permission and raises his friend’s thigh to bury himself inside him once more, to fuck him sideways. Gintoki takes it, head hidden in his pillow and cock coming to life with each stroke against his inner walls, with the feeling of wet pants against his nape, until Shinsuke empties himself inside him once more. He uses his hand to bring Gintoki to completion.

They stay like that, sweaty, dirty and stinking of sex, until camp settles down to an almost perfect peace. At long last, they wipe themselves off and put their clothes on again. Shinsuke is on his knees, tying up his yukata while Gintoki is rustling around his bag to look for his whetstone. It’s like his broad back calls for Shinsuke — he kneels closer and forcibly turns the other man’s head to the right so he can kiss him.

Gintoki stays still, taken by surprise but not trying to push him back, especially considering Shinsuke keeps it chaste. His eyes are closed, so he can better lose himself in the feeling of plush lips against his own, the salty taste of his tears from earlier, and his warm breath. When he pulls back, he softly knocks their foreheads together, and whispers: “Same thing tomorrow?”

Gintoki looks a little bit dizzy, like he really wasn’t expecting this, but he nods wordlessly. Shinsuke grins softly, and steals another kiss before he finally leaves, his hands and lips still tingling.

He lets out a guttural scream as he manages to drag the other’s head away, his lips still tight, sucking around his shaft as he pulls out of Gintoki’s throat. He looks completely vacant, pupils blown wide, eyes glassy, focused on Shinsuke, waiting, obedient. God, if he knew that the best way to turn Gintoki so docile was to fuck his mouth, he would’ve done it ages ago.

Shinsuke has had time to figure out what worked and what didn’t, with his lover. Honestly, Gintoki is a brat and clearly loves being difficult, but as soon as Shinsuke starts to exert more dominance, to use his commanding voice and physically restrains him, Gintoki falls into full submission. A few times now he’s let Shinsuke use his mouth to get rid of some tension after a complicated meeting or a failed assault. He shut his mouth when Shinsuke fucked his thighs against a tree, when the scout he personally took under his wing never came back from enemy territory. He let him into his tent, inside his bed, and while he often groaned about it, he never actually tried to push him away.

His favorite times, however, are when it’s Gintoki who gets desperate. When he comes to find him in the middle of the night, or right after a skirmish, and gives him a look that speaks thousands. Shinsuke is always happy to provide, anyway, especially when Gintoki asks him to use him until he can’t think anymore. When he offers himself fully, open and desperate, and comes to Shinsuke to fill the void inside him.

It’s honestly a miracle no one in camp seems to have noticed up until now — except maybe Zura, but honestly, he can’t think of a world in which they could hide it from him. But maybe they’ll start to connect the dots now, because they turned down every offer for a drink or a party when they joined the group of people going to town, and immediately checked in the first hotel so they could finally truly be alone together.

And sure enough, as soon as they were done with their shower, Gintoki pushed him on the mattress to get him in his mouth. He sucked and swallowed him slowly, like he wanted to savor it, make it last, and Shinsuke is close to letting him do as he wants and come inside his greedy mouth — but he has other plans. That’s why he shakily manages to push the other man away, closes his fist around the base of his erection when he sees how wet and red Gintoki’s mouth is, and grunts: “Get up. I wanna come in your ass.”

Gintoki wordlessly nods and climbs on his lap, dick hard and smearing pre-cum all over his abdomen while he lets Shinsuke’s erection brush against the cleft of his ass, the head almost catching in the rim before it slides off. His patience runs thin, and he takes his shaft in hand, while Gintoki finally lowers himself on it with a choked-up moan.

His breath gets knocked out of his chest when he feels Gintoki’s cheeks against his balls, now completely sitting on him. He whines, jerks a little bit left and right, and tries to push on his knees until Shinsuke grabs him by the waist and presses down. Gintoki frowns. “What’s up? You’re gonna come already?”

He is, but it’s not really why he’s stopping him. Once Shinsuke is sure Gintoki is going to stand still, he slowly moves his hands upwards, palms open on his skin, until he reaches his face to tenderly cup his jaw. “We’ve got time. And a real bed. We can go more slowly than usual.”

Gintoki doesn’t look convinced. However, a few seconds pass, as Shinsuke lets the tip of his fingers lose themselves in the silver curls of his nape. At last, he grunts: “Can I do it?”

Shinsuke suddenly stills, and feels his cock throb, right against Gintoki’s walls. He asks, dumbfounded: “You… You want to fuck me?”

Not that he’d ever reject the idea or pretend that he never thought about it before — he certainly has — but he just didn’t think they would do this now. Especially now now, with him already balls deep in the other’s hole.

“Well. Yeah. But I mean…” Gintoki bites his lips, like he’s actually looking for the right words, but doesn’t move away from his lap. If anything, he rolls his hips down, and Shinsuke meets his slow but deep thrusts, lips slightly open. His thighs quiver when Shinsuke’s cock reaches deep inside him, and he finally explains: “You’re always doing stuff for me. And I feel like I could give it back.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”

“That’s not what I said,” he groans. “Just… Stay still and let me take care of everything for once, okay?”

As soon as he nods, still slightly thrown out of the loop, Gintoki moans as he resumes riding him, overwhelmed and already teetering close to his orgasm after the blowjob from earlier. He’s not going to last long — which is fine for Shinsuke because he wanted to wring him dry anyway. He wants to hear him cry with oversensitivity, wants to see if he can manage to fuck him unconscious.

He just didn’t think Gintoki would work himself out on his own. But he’s definitely on board. He absolutely wants to see that.

Shinsuke lowers his back on the bed, earning a smirk from Gintoki who settles more comfortably on his lap before he starts rolling his ass down, hips undulating in such a way he finds himself enthralled, like the sight is better than the hole he’s fucking.

Gintoki’s strong thighs are tense, muscles taut behind his sweaty skin that’s glowing under the light of the candles. He’s not touching his cock, that’s just swaying with every movement, pink skin and pre-cum dripping through his shiny foreskin, one vein throbbing when he finds a good angle. His abs are clenched, well-defined in this position and accentuated by the slight tapering of his waist. Just above it is a rosy scar that has just finished healing, the hue almost as delicate as the color of his nipples, tender and hard, like they’re begging for his mouth and teeth. His pectorals are plump, so heavy they jiggle with every thrust, and the valley between them makes Shinsuke salivate at the idea of fucking it one day, when Gintoki starts to put on some weight from all the sweets he ingests and a lazy life of doing nothing but teaching and fucking. And at last, beyond the hard lines of his collarbones and square jaw, above his round shoulders, is his face.

Shinsuke doesn’t think he could ever get tired of it. Gintoki, when deep in the throes of pleasure, turns completely slack — even more so than he usually is. The easy curve of his mouth opens up to let him admire the roundness of his lips, the cherry-red of his tongue. His low eyelids slightly open yet curved at the edges to show more of his beady eyes and the desperation simmering in them. His eyelashes flutter, his eyebrows go up on his forehead, letting the full pupil appear.

He’s properly wanton, debauched, eagerly meeting his own pleasure and letting it radiate through his entire body. And above all else, he looks happy. He looks contented, fulfilled — like he’s exactly where he wants to be.

Shinsuke has to bite a curse. Fuck, he doesn’t know if he’s going to last, actually. This is too good.

Gintoki places one hand against his rib cage and the other on the upper part of his torso, fingers around the curve of his shoulder and his thumb resting at the bottom of his throat, just under his Adam’s apple. He’s not pressing too hard — he couldn’t really choke him like this. But the idea that he just might if he wanted sets his nerves on fire. Gintoki is stronger than Shinsuke. He’s currently got full control over him. He could do anything he wants. He would be powerless. His hips jerk up. Gintoki grins.

At last, he closes his eyes and loses himself in his own rhythm, hips now coming down faster, while his hole clenches harder. His thrusts get somehow more insistent — chasing the feeling of a certain spot deep inside of him, of the one place that turns him to goo and makes his dick drool all over Shinsuke’s abdomen. His voice starts to derail as well. His moans are hoarse, needy and yearning for release. But it’s Shinsuke who pleads: “Gintoki… more.”

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow, breathless and his cheeks pink. “What do you want?”

“Harder. Destroy me, please.”

The corner of his mouth curls up, while his eyes actually soften. They’re starting to get glazed over, gazing over Shinsuke in a way he’s never seen before — tender and fond, like those words say more than a thousand declarations.

Gintoki is absolutely ruthless. His hand actually tightens around his neck, each digit pressing in his skin in a way that’s sure to leave an imprint that will be visible for days. He sometimes adds his thumb right on his trachea, and Shinsuke can only submit. He’s short-breathed, eyes rolling back as white blazing pleasure runs through him like crushing waves. 

With each roll of his hips, Gintoki seems to aspire energy out of him. He slams down, his hole so wet and hot, and then sucks him all the way up, tight like a fist, so his rim squeezes around the head before he falls back down to repeat the process. The rhythm, the heat, the pressure are suffocating.

And Gintoki is not touching himself. He wants this to last.

Shinsuke feels like crying when Gintoki’s hand leaves his throat to grab his own pectoral. He closes his eyes, eyebrows slightly knitted, and sinks his fingers in his chest, nails leaving red trails on the sweaty skin. He pinches his nipple between his fingers, kneading the mound as if to mimic the feeling of someone else using his body with the most depraved intents.

God, for all the jealousy that Shinsuke feels towards the people who touched that man before him, Gintoki would look good getting fucked from both ends. He wants to see what it is like, when other people cover his face with their semen, and force him to serve them. That’s an idea for a later day. Maybe they could ask Zura if he’s down.

A curse drags him out of his reverie, and he instinctively thrusts up when he sees Gintoki writhing on his lap, back arched and his erection twitching. He’s getting close. Shinsuke gulps to get some of his bearings back and reaches towards his dick — but gets slapped away. Gintoki hazily shakes his head, eyes wet and mouth agape.

“Don’t need it…”

The thumping sounds of Shinsuke’s heart reach his ears. His eyes slightly widen, his breath gets caught in his chest, but he doesn’t have time to ask Gintoki if he’s sure. The other man goes back to his devilish tempo, angling his hips so every roll nails his prostate. His cries get shorter, higher, as his hand keeps playing with the reddened tip of his nipple, twisting and pulling on it.

He finally comes with a throaty scream. Shinsuke observes with wide eyes as his lover comes all over his abs, shot after shot wetly falling on his skin. His hole becomes painfully tight, trapping his dick so deep inside that he can feel the pulses of Gintoki orgasm against the tip. He grinds down again, once, twice, milking his own pleasure until shivers start running along his skin, from his trembling thighs to his heaving chest, right up to his slack jaw.

Gintoki’s eyes get lost towards the ceiling, and his body finally stills. He’s still clenching around Shinsuke’s raging hardness, lost in the high of coming untouched after some long foreplay and ruthless intercourse.

Shinsuke, in the meantime, doesn’t move an inch. He bites his lip, trying so hard not to come, to be obedient and wait because Gintoki wanted to have control, and he gave it to him. His head is swimming with contradicting desires — he wants to wait, as he was ordered to, he wants to grab Gintoki by the waist and slam him against the mattress to use his hole to completion, he wants to hold him, feel him soften between his arms, offer some care and tenderness after such a harsh embrace.

Gintoki liberates him from his own turmoil. He slowly comes back to his senses, wetting his lips and easing his breaths, before he tries to raise himself up to pull out Shinsuke’s cock — only for his hips to jerk when he realizes he's still erect inside him. He blinks blearily, and asks: “You’re still hard?”

Shinsuke takes a few seconds to answer — because if he’s being honest, he could come right here, right there, just from seeing the unshed tears in Gintoki’s eyes, or from hearing the rasp of his voice, or from feeling his insides soften, like they’re lovingly keeping him warm. But he eventually manages to answer between gritted teeth: “Thought you were the one in charge? You didn’t tell me to come yet.”

He’s visibly taken aback, not expecting Shinsuke to actually submit like that. He combs a hand through his disheveled hair, sweat matting it to a dark gray, and after a few moments, he grins. “I guess I did, huh. Good little toy.”

Shinsuke glares at him — because the degrading words actually made him throb, and he only has to see his smile turn into a smirk to know that Gintoki felt it.

Gintoki finally manages to push on his thighs and slide off him, which makes Shinsuke hiss because of how sensitive he is. However, he doesn’t have time to despair over the loss — Gintoki settles on his back, laying the other way around on the bed before he parts his thighs. He turns obnoxiously smug when he brings his fingers down, to spread the soft and wet rim of his hole open.

“Here. Come get what you need.”

The words have barely left his lips that Shinsuke is on him, pushing his shoulders against the mattress and grinding his desperate dick between his legs. However, Gintoki only scoffs. He curls his arms around his shoulders while Shinsuke takes himself in hand and pushes back inside, murmuring: “Yeah, just like that. It’s your turn now.”

Shinsuke wishes this was really the case — but he knows he doesn’t have much left in him. He’s too high-strung, too desperate to be able to take his time and really make Gintoki lose his mind now. He needs to come, he needs to mark this man as his. Luckily, Gintoki moans when Shinsuke finally brings his mouth against his skin, and bites.

He feels like a beast. The only thing in his brain is his desire to take, to breed, to mate — while Gintoki lays there, barely responsive except for his groans and the jerks of his hips when Shinsuke reaches his prostate. He cradles him against his torso and keeps his legs wide open, while Shinsuke chases his own relief like a dog in heat.

He finally feels the coil rip when one of his canines sinks so deep in the thick muscle of Gintoki’s shoulder that it draws blood. There’s a stutter in his friend’s whine, a new contraction of his insides, and the taste of blood against his tongue manages to tip him over. Shinsuke heaves a long groan, every inch of his body throbbing, taut and tingling as he empties himself, deep inside his best friend, forehead pressed against the delightfully soft skin of Gintoki’s breasts.

He blinks himself awake a few seconds later, unsure how much time has passed. Probably not that much, considering his softening dick is finally sliding off Gintoki’s hole — but he doesn’t want to move yet. He’s still carried by the afterglow, warm waves covering him from head to toes as he rests against the man he loves, hearing the soft thrums of his heart against his ear and feeling his rib cage swell with every breath.

Gintoki doesn’t try to release him either. His thighs lazily rest against his sides while his hands are splayed on the sweaty skin of his back, stroking softly, waiting for Shinsuke to calm down. For once, he says nothing, enjoying the comfortable silence between them.

They stay like this for a few minutes, until Shinsuke feels bold enough to push on his arms to raise himself a little bit, naked skin still pressed against Gintoki’s, and pecks his lips. His friend blinks slowly, but doesn’t push him away — if anything, he parts them like he’s expecting more. However, when Shinsuke eventually relents and presses down again, he doesn’t try to go beyond that. It isn’t a kiss meant to seduce, it's not driven by lust. It's a kiss to say thank you. You’re welcome. I love you.

The last words echo in Shinsuke’s brain every time he feels Gintoki’s breath mingling with his own, every time a soft suction noise echoes between their faces. He sighs of pleasure when he feels his tongue teasing an entry, only to softly stroke his own, caress its way inside and tenderly slide on the curve of his lips — while Shinsuke continues to swallow those words, this confession that should be obvious by now but that he can’t express yet.

It’s too early. It’s not the right time. Wait a little bit more. When the war is over. When they’re finally all back together. He’s not fully his yet.

His heart, however, feels so full it’s like he’s drowning. Shinsuke needs to speak, or else he fears he’ll just unconsciously bare his heart and ruin everything. It costs him, but he breaks off the kiss to whisper against Gintoki’s lips: “Sorry for the bites. You were teasing me.”

His friend snorts, rolling his eyes back. Shinsuke loves the sight of his slightly swollen lips, reddened by their kisses and stretched on an easy smile. “Not enough proteins in your meals, Takasugi? Is that why you’re so short?”

This time when Shinsuke bites his chin, hard, Gintoki jerks back and apologizes with a pout.

They get a little more comfortable against each other, but still don’t try to move away — even though they definitely need to shower. But Shinsuke is too comfortable with his jaw pressed against the hard line of Gintoki’s shoulder, legs entwined under the comforter they pulled back up when their body temperature turned back to normal. Shinsuke has a hand over Gintoki’s chest, the curve of his breast so warm and comforting under his palm. Not far from the tip of his thumb, he can still feel his heartbeat.

“Hey, Gintoki…” he mutters under his breath, eyes lost in the wrinkles of the sheets between them. Gintoki slightly turns his head towards him. “I was thinking, now that we’re close to the end… What will you do once we’ve saved Shouyou?”

He raises his eyebrows, taken aback by the change of mood and subject. “What’s that question? We bring him home, of course.”

“After that,” he clarifies. “You’re ready to abandon the war?”

“Oh yeah, sure, because we’re having so much fun right now. I love sleeping in mud and entrails.”

Shinsuke grunts and flicks his nipple, as a punishment for being obtuse. “You’re not the same man you were when we joined the army. You’re Shiroyasha, now. But you could be forgotten if you don’t stay until everything is over. Is that fine with you?”

He sees a hint of conflict, deep in his reddish eyes. It is followed by a mutter: “I’m not fighting for the sake of the country, or to be in the history books.” He turns a little bit on his side, so he can face Shinsuke. “If I had to put words on it… I’d say that we’re fighting for the same thing, you and I.”

Shinsuke can feel the soft thrum of his heart, right against his rib cage. He softly laughs, with a shadow of a smile.

“Yeah. We’re definitely not like Zura or Tatsuma, in that sense.” His eyes soften, the corner of his lips creasing his cheek. “We’re just two good-for-nothings, with no regard for decency or patriotism. We only care about ourselves.”

At last, he manages to meet Gintoki’s eyes. They look a little bit confused, but they greet him, steadfast. Unwavering.

Shinsuke loves him, with all his heart, but he can’t say it now. So when he cups Gintoki’s cheek in his palm, grounding them together for this one exchange, he expresses it the only way he can:

“But you’re a light. A fire that can’t, and shouldn’t be put out. That’s why I need you to make me a promise, please.” Something starts shining, deep inside Gintoki’s orbs — something Shinsuke can’t name or place. But he can’t stop now. He needs to finish his plea: “If something, anything, ever happens to me, you need to save sensei. Whatever the cost.”

Pain blooms on his lover’s face. He frowns. “What?”

“We’re so close, Gintoki,” Shinsuke insists. “We’re both done with this war, after that. We have no reason to stay. And I’m not leaving this hellhole, body or soul, without knowing that both you and Shouyou are safe, you hear me?”

“And how’s that fair to me, huh? You really think I’d ever abandon any of you here?”

“We’ll manage. But you? I am formally asking you to not think, if you ever need to choose. You…” He swallows hard. “You're not allowed to turn back. Not after everything. It’s not fair, but this is what I’m asking you.”

“I thought I was the only one allowed to kill you.”

Shinsuke feels stunned by his answer. He stares at Gintoki, incredulous. And barks a laugh.

“You think this is about this so-called curse? It’s not. I didn’t say I was planning to die, Gintoki. I mostly meant if I’m injured in battle, or if we get separated, I don’t know. I’ll find my way back to you both, eventually. But for that, I need to be sure you’ll protect Shouyou in my stead.”

Gintoki looks far from satisfied. He stares darkly at him, sometimes glaring at the hand that’s still stuck on his cheek. Shinsuke can see it — he’s torn apart, between his reason and his stubbornness. Shinsuke just needs to wait, and see which side wins him over.

It’s apparently a mix of both. He grips Shinsuke’s wrist but doesn’t push it away, even when he slides on the mattress until their faces are right against each other, their foreheads stuck together. He looks upset when he drawls: “You’ll have to promise me one thing as well, then. Don’t die.”

The look Gintoki stabs him with is enough to make his breath hitch. He shakily nods, and loses himself in the kiss that follows — anger and bitterness boiled together to melt into desperation. Shinsuke wants to believe that none of those scenarios will happen. That they’ll just save the day, free Shouyou, flee the battlefield and rebuild their lives far away, in a place where no amanto, no government, no laws nor soldier can prevent them from being happy, together.

Yes. They are so close. And they can’t afford any liabilities or mistakes anymore. There’s just too much at stake, Shinsuke decides, hands lost in rough silver locks, pinned under the strongest man he’s ever known, who could choke him with one hand but decided Shinsuke needed to live whatever the cost.

Deep down, Shinsuke still believes it. No one but Gintoki could kill him. Gods can try too, but even then, he’ll struggle and free himself from his fate — all to eventually come back to the embrace of the one they called demon, yet is burdened by the most human of hearts.

Maybe it’s actually a curse. Maybe it’s just karma. Maybe he brought it all to himself, the day he decided to throw his life away to pursue a tall man with a soft voice and the red-eyed child who trailed behind him, dragging a sword taller than he was.

Gintoki was wrong, however. He wasn’t cursed. He never was, because he never did anything wrong.

Until today.

Today, on a cliff that overlooks the battlefield, Gintoki made his choice. He broke his promise. He ruined it all. Every dream, every wish, every fantasy, every daydream. They have been wiped out in a second, in one swipe of a sword. It’s all gone.

Shinsuke is in shock. He can barely process the fact that he has only one eye left. He just sees the lump at their feet, covered by a sheet. He sees Gintoki’s back, who won’t face them. He sees him leave, a white spot getting further and further from home base, to never return — and he finally figures it out.

They were all mistaken. Gintoki wasn’t cursed — Shinsuke was. Cursed to love, and believe, and abandon himself to the one man he never doubted in.

Only for Shiroyasha to break his heart. Again. And again.