Gintama ficlets
Gintama ficlets, still in need of expansion and re-write, from a prompt request I made a bit ago. Reposted here for someone. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE.




"Do you know why I'm here, you pathetic bastard?"

Tatsuma didn't know why the man was doing this, not in the concrete anyway. Like that Takasugi, Tatsuma knew that this man was a former comrade in arms, a good one. The last time he'd seen him, he'd had a tail of hair like a banner and sharp, angry eyes. He was one of those hitokiri fellows.

The fingers around his neck tightened and the plectrum struck the three strings of the shamisen, yanking the razor-wire around his neck, cutting in. He was only afforded some comfort where the fringes of his thick hair got between his skin and the biting wires. The man tilted his tinted glasses up, tilted Tatsuma's down and staring down with those cold eyes.

"Because he wanted you all dead. All of you, and you're the last, only because you won't put two damn feet on the ground of your own motherland for more than a minute."

Tatsuma laughed at that, a harsh laugh at the confirmation that they were dead and he was the last one, that once again Gintoki had let him go a little further ahead through his own sacrifices. Gintoki had let him run away without looking back. The laughter popped the blood clot in his nose and it started bleeding again.

Worse when Kawakami Bansai reached down and punched in again, knuckles feeling just as sharp as the first time. Tatsuma struggled a little as the smaller, stronger man leaned down closer, hand working beneath the loose flaps of fabric that barely covered the man's chest, damp breath on the cuts along his neck and the welts from the positions they'd been when Tatsuma had first been ambushed and dragged away to the field he was lying in now.

Trapped and strangled.

"You aren't very entertaining for me, either. You're too boring. You're that song that only ever gets played once on the radio, a pathetic opponent, you know, so since you can't give me a decent fight..."

The finger rolled harshly over Tatsuma's nipple, erect with fear and the panic attack threatening to bubble up from his chest. There was no use trying to get away if they were going to lose, their country would be destroyed by Takasugi. There was no use in being hopeful. Bansai's hot, pointed tongue drew across the high arch of Tatsuma's cheekbone, brushing away tears that were by now falling uncontrollably, sudden claustrophia overwhelming the man.

"Let's hope you at least last for a little while giving me something else."





Shinpachi could have turned on a light, he could have, but even after all these years he always thought to walk across the room and light the oil lamps before he flicked the switch on the wall. The moon was out that night, too, big and round with its light falling through the window of the single bedroom of the Yorozuya Gin-chan, where he slept over on night such as this when business kept him up late.

He could have flipped the light switch. He should have. As Shinpachi stood, he heard a faint crack from below and, looking down, feeling on the tatami, discovered that the crack had come from his glasses. Shinpachi picked the mangled things up and pocketed them in his white yukata, whirling around to wait in the kitchen until Gintoki got home. His face collided with a warm, wide, naked strip of chest.

The smell of alcohol was strong, as was the smell of sweet red beans and spicy cologne. Shinpachi winced, trying not to gag at the sudden forceful smells as he looked up and stuttered.

"G-g-Gin-san! You were out drinking again! I thought you said we didn't have the money fo-- and Kagura! Ka. Gu. Ra. How can you just leave a girl that young alone by herself at night this late? Do you do this when I'm not he--"

Gintoki cut him off with a broad, heavy hand shoved over Shinpachi's mouth, one that smelled cloyingly of more of that sweet sake and sweat. He could see it in the man's expression; this wasn't sweet, misguided drunken Gin-san. This was Gin-san when he was irritated about something.

"Ah, yeah, I know, Shinpachi. But she can take care of herself and I can take care of myself, so just shut up and go back to bed."

He wobbled against Shinpachi's shoulders, which, as much as he did practice his kendo, were nowhere near as experienced or broad as Gintoki's. Shinpachi wobbled more, because he never was very fond of this side of the man, no matter how infrequently it was uncovered by the wind like some fossil of the past.

"I think you should go to bed, Gin-san. I think I'm going to go home and check on my sister..."

"Nope," Gintoki said, before leaning roughly against Shinpachi's chest and wrapping two arms around his back, hot even through the fabric of the white yukata, even through the loose fabric of Gintoki's own. Hot from all of the alcohol. "Your glasses are broke. Saw you put them in your pocket, so you should probably just..." He hiccoughed softly. "Probably just stay here for the night. Something could happen to you otherwise."

Shinpachi struggled against the arms slightly, confused, but certainly not afraid of Gintoki. He was a man with a particular kind of spirit, something that, no matter the circumstances, Shinpachi could trust wouldn't let the man do any real wrongs against another person.

Shinpachi trusted Gintoki implicitly, even when the man moved the hand on Shinpachi's face to his back and pressed his rough lips against Shinpachi's soft ones and ground out a message, a mood, one that told Shinpachi that for the night, Gintoki wanted to be the one that Shinpachi worried about making home safely. He kissed back, softly. The kissed became more encouraged, moved down the side of Shinpachi's neck and left pink little strawberry-marks on his skin where the other man nipped. This was okay, wasn't it? They did this all the time when Gintoki was a around Shinpachi's age, an older samurai and a younger one would--

Shinpachi trusted Gintoki implicitly when he lifted the back of Shinpachi's short white yukata and dragged his pale blue boxers down with a sharp pull, like a sword being unsheathed. The sweaty, sake-soaked hand made its way to the roundness of Shinpachi's ass and kneaded, callouses brushing across soft, young skin.

Gintoki made a deep, indulgent noise in the back of his throat and Shinpachi fisted his hands in the soft black material of his shirt.