log; complete

[oneeyedbeast.livejournal.com]

When; February 22nd, 2008; Tonight
Rating; NC-17 [adult themes]
Characters; Sakata Gintoki (ginironosora), Takasugi Shinsuke (oneeyedbeast)
Summary; A freelancer, a terrorist, and a priest walk into a bar one day...
Log; The sun was setting on another curse-free day and things seemed almost peaceful as the samurai walked off towards the bar, fingers laced behind his head and scarf wrapped round his neck against the lingering cold. A drink sounded good, and Gintoki didn't want to delve into whatever Sakamoto had lying around the house. Sometimes, a man just had to go out for a traditional drink, take a seat on one of the cracked barstools, and wait for the barkeep to pour you a fresh one. The metal handle was freezing as he pulled the door open, but the instant warmth that hit him more than made up for it, a small smile curving his lips as he stepped in and pulled his scarf off.

He bumped a couple of guys at the pool table on his way past, but they took no mind. His mind was set on one of those black leather stools, but upon approaching, it seemed as though his favorite one was occupied by...

...was that his yukata?

The city streets had cleared up enough during the night that Takasugi was able to wander outdoors without being recognized. It was getting more and more difficult to do so since the bombs had gone off a few weeks prior, all eyes directed suspiciously at him even while taking a casual stroll. Since his release from prison, he'd taken to wandering through public when it was late and visiting one of the emptier bars of the city to indulge in a bit of sake.

It was a welcomed repose to be seated at the bar stand, feeling the satisfying burn of alcohol as it slid down his throat, head tipped back demurely while he sipped. The yukata he had on had been a thing of mystery since he couldn't recall favoring white over his much more flamboyant fabrics, and the scent that clung to it reminded him far too much of Edo. Perhaps Bansai had left it lying around at some point, and though it wasn't often or ever that he borrowed clothes from the other man, considering the vile state his own were still in, he'd endure it.

Gintoki approached cautiously, that head of hair far too recognizable for its own good. But if he had his sword on him, he couldn't see it-- and Takasugi was never really one for big, flashy attacks. He took the seat next to him and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Fancy meeting you here, Takasugi! Mind a drink or two with me?"

Why the man was wearing his yukata, he had no idea-- but it seemed odd to match the person next to him, so he refrained from removing his pale green haori and tucked the folded scarf into one of the sleeve pockets. He did, however, vaguely recall one of his extras going missing a while back; the custom duplicate he'd had made alongside what few others he could find in the City.

Takasugi tensed a bit at the new arrival, unable to recognize the voice even though the person knew his name. Perhaps it was one of the many figures that followed him vigorously on the network or a passing acquaintance that Takasugi hadn't bothered committing to memory for one reason or another. Though, the latter thought was less likely because Takasugi was quite adept at remembering details.

"You refer to me so casually," he stated slowly, his shoulders relaxing again as he turned his head fully to study the other man.

He was about his age and had a good build, enough to suggest he didn't spend his life idle. The hair was even more engrossing, a dry, silver-colored perm that could catch anyone's eye from a distance. His face, most of all, struck a pleasant cord within him, and he continued to observe him silently as he waited for an answer.

Gintoki's brows knitted briefly as he gave him a weird look. He wasn't allowed to call him Shinsuke, and now Takasugi was too casual? He laughed lightly, shaking his head. "Now just Takasugi ain't good enough? You're too hard to keep up with. Way too hard!! Besides, is that any way to talk to an old comrade? Man, friends really don't mean much to you anymore, do they?"

The look in his dark green eye was a bit disconcerting-- it was usually at least a little angry, but he didn't even seem annoyed with him. The hair at the nape of his neck bristled slightly, the strangeness of Takasugi's demeanor putting him on-guard. The bartender approached then, distracting Gintoki as he ordered sake, and looked back to Takasugi.

"...Is there something... er, wrong with you, today?"

Old comrade? Was this man drunk already? Takasugi was one of the few only survivors from the war, and he'd made sure that those who had defected from their cause and had chosen to roll over and allow themselves to be ruled by the Amanto, suffered their deaths at the edge of his sword. He would have definitely remembered this man if he'd fought alongside him in the war.

"Takasugi is fine," he murmured slowly, reaching into his sleeve to pull out his pipe as he continued to eye the newcomer strangely. "What do you mean old comrade?"

"Hahaha, that's not a very good joke, Takasugi. Who'da thought you were such a good actor? You act like you've forgotten me or somethin'." Why was he always looking for trouble? Maybe if Takasugi really had forgotten him, things would be better. He wouldn't come after him anymore, right? Surely that'd be a plus.

...But being forgotten... That was too sad, wasn't it? Especially in wars, the best thing a comrade could do if they survived was to remember those that fought beside them, right? The friends they'd made, lost, saved, sacrificed-- remember them all. Every last one. And honor them, right? Especially the ones that lived through it all with you.

Maybe there really was some kind of curse going around. Haha, City. Haha.

Takasugi's eye narrowed slightly as he lit the pipe, starting to feel he was being ridiculed. Was this man looking to die? His sword was never too far from his side, and there was little holding Takasugi back from stabbing him straight through the gut if he so much as continued to bring up subjects he knew nothing of.

"I don't know you," he responded, taking a deep drag from the pipe and interspersing that with a sips of sake, wondering what this man was up to. "Do you have any business with me? Because if not, I suggest you leave."

"No, no business, just looking to enjoy a drink in good company. May I?" Gintoki gave Takasugi a smile, the low lights in the bar seeming to set off the dark hue of his eye. Though the white made him look pale, it suited him in a strange way. Sure, he'd play along with this for a while. Maybe it was a curse, and maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing, for tonight.

"Oh?" Takasugi intoned, head tilting to the side as he slid his bottle in between them. It was practically empty and would need refilling soon, but the remarks the other man had said earlier now made him suspicious, at least enough to endure his company until he found out how he knew his name and what he was up to.

"And what may I call you?" he asked, letting out another drag from his pipe, blowing the smoke out towards his new drinking partner's face as he waited for a response.

The sweet smell of opium was all too familiar, pleasant both in smell and remembrance-- always a smell he'd associate with the man next to him, and Gintoki's smile sweetened as he poured a small bit of the sake into his cup, trying not to drain it. "Gintoki's just fine. Gin-chan if you're feeling daring. How was your Valentine's day?"

He swirled the small saucer lightly, watching the light reflect off the surface before taking a small sip from the cup, letting the taste of the wine sink in. It's been a while, but it sure was sweet. They didn't often have sake around the house.

"Gintoki," Takasugi repeated, tasting the name on his own tongue, letting it roll out pleasantly before he emptied out the bottle in his own cup and ordered a new one for the both of them.

There was still something this Gintoki wasn't letting on. The way he stared and the familiarity with which he continued to speak to Takasugi when most people avoided him or threatened him. These things kept Takasugi on alert even as he continued to down more alcohol into his system.

"I don't celebrate foreign holidays," he finally answered.

"Ah, I guess that makes sense. It was done American-style too, so there probably won't even be a White Day. But somehow, I find it hard to believe you didn't get anything." Was he suspicious? It seemed like he didn't trust him much, but if he really had forgotten... Well, it was awkward, but it was better than having a blade against his throat otherwise. When the bartender put two bottles down between them, Gintoki picked his own up and refilled Takasugi's cup in exchange, nodding with a smile. To make up for the sake Takasugi had shared with him, first.

"Come to think of it," Takasugi replied, letting Gintoki fill his cup before drawing it closer to himself, fingers resting against the warm ceramic, "I did receive flowers …most likely from one of my subordinates."

They'd been white gladiolas left unsigned by his door step. Takasugi didn't know who would send them to him and had to verify they weren't hiding explosives before taking them in. The city was full of plenty who heard his message well and agreed with it, but the fact that they'd been too afraid to include a name… that was a bit off-putting.

"Mmm... flowers? How nice." Gintoki hid the curve of his lips by bringing the saucer of sake up, downing it in a gulp and setting it back on the counter gently for a refill. It was good sake-- not the best he'd ever had, but better than usual store-bought brands. His hand reached for the tall ceramic bottle and poured it slowly. It was odd to be treated as a stranger by someone you'd known most of your life.

Takasugi drank more slowly, starting to feel the combined effects of the alcohol and the opium hit his body, enough that it was growing steadily more difficult to focus, the edges of his sentences slurring very subtly. It was definitely not a good idea to let his guard down at all around a complete stranger, especially one who knew his name beforehand.

Reaching out, his fingers closed over Gintoki's, holding them firmly. "How did you know my name?"

Gintoki's smile grew sad, and his eyes focused on the hand over his, quite a bit smaller, fingers shorter, more lithe. "We've met a few times in the City, is all. Similar worlds. We've talked on the Network. I wouldn't necessarily say we're friends, but..."

Maybe things were okay like this. "We seemed to have a bit in common."

Takasugi's fingers tightened, the warmth of Gintoki's hand seeping pleasantly against his own. He still didn't buy the other man's words, something in his eyes showing turmoil and hesitance. There was no familiarity whatsoever associated with him, though.

"I would have remembered you if that were the case. Especially if what you claim is true. Tell me the truth, Gintoki." Takasugi's lips curved, leaning to the side, close enough to drop his voice to a whisper. His head felt heavier with the sake, his words and movements growing bolder without what miniscule restraint he possessed. "Are you here to kill me?" he asked, "A true warrior always challenges another up front and openly. But then again, what do I know about that sort of thing? I've become a beast, haven't I? I could just as easily cut you down right here."

Gintoki stretched his fingers, turning his palm up to hold Takasugi's hand better, feeling cool in his grasp-- but not the same kind of cool as when he was dead. He had the warmth of life running through his veins again. He could feel his pulse fluttering in the heel of his palm against his own. Giving a faint shake of his head, he said, "I've been caught in my lie, hmm? But no, I'm not here to kill you. I, too, am a samurai. In spirit more than in heart, anymore, but morals don't change. I wouldn't be so underhanded."

He thought over his next words for a moment, choosing them carefully. "But... it seems as though you've forgotten me. We went to school together when we were young, along with Zura. Shoyou-sensei was our teacher."

Takasugi didn't know which one of them was more inebriated at this moment, but none of it made sense. He'd experienced his own life and childhood. He'd lived through the pain, the violence, and all the deaths, and yet, there had never been any sign of this man in any of his memories. Everything he said had to have been completely untrue.

His hand shifted suddenly to grip onto Gintoki's yukata, forcing him close enough for Takasugi to whisper vehemently in his ear. "How do you know that particular name? What was he to you? If you keep slandering Shoyou-sensei as you are, there will be very little left in tact for you to walk home with."

Takasugi's threats didn't phase him even as Gintoki looked directly back at him, eyes sorrowful. "I can't tell you what I don't know. The City does strange things every time we turn around. For all I know, this is another curse, and I'm just not affected. All I know is, Shoyou-sensei was very dear to us. We grew up together, we fought in the war together, and only you, me, Zura, Tatsuma, and about eighty other men made it out alive from forces of thousands. And we were prepared to keep fighting by each other's sides, but the government completely gave up. 'Sonno Joui', right? Against the Amanto. But we were betrayed. It was ten years ago."

He took Takasugi's hand and removed the fingers from his yukata, curling his hand over Takasugi's. "What do I need to tell you to make you believe me?"

It still couldn't be true even if all the facts lined up. There was no way Takasugi could just forget a person like that, someone who'd gone through the same thing he had. Gintoki knew Shoyou-sensei, though. Whoever this man was seemed to have a very intimate acquaintance with his past, enough that Takasugi had no immediate response once again.

"Gintoki…," he breathed out, voice rough before he pulled away abruptly, fingers dancing over the hilt of his sword. There was something dangerous in his own expression, the smile he normally wore faded from his lips leaving behind a vicious glare. "I can't accept that you ever knew that man. I don't know through what means you acquired all the information about me, but I'll kill you for even claiming you knew him as I did."

Gintoki picked up the sake bottles and stood, looking back over his shoulder at Takasugi. "Join me outside? I don't want any sort of ruckus to break out here in the bar." He knew that no matter what he said, diffusing an angry Takasugi was a difficult thing to do, and drunk men would do as they always do, and join whatever might break out. The City was usually quite deserted come nightfall, so it wouldn't be a big deal if they stepped outside and sat in the square.

It was probably for the better that they moved. It would make it easier to slice Gintoki's head off in a wider space away from spectators. Takasugi knew he wasn't exactly thinking clearly, more of his irrational, impulsive side goading on his already present violent streak. The beast already circled its cage hungrily at even the slightest mention of the man who meant everything to Takasugi –his reason for existing.

"Very well," he said abruptly, walking ahead of him and outside to where it was cold. He hadn't worn anything but the white yukata and felt the wind too strongly biting angrily at his skin as he waited for Gintoki.

Gintoki's sword was at his hip, but he had no intention of unsheathing it against Takasugi-- not tonight. Instead, he went to the center and set the sake bottles in the middle of one of the surrounding benches, then drew the scarf from his sleeve pocket, and moved to drape it over Takasugi's shoulders. In the same movement, he snatched the tattered green notebook from the inside of the yukata, the slash in the top indicative of the mark Zura had left all those months ago.

"We all had these. The whole class, right? Mine's long gone-- I threw it out when I spilled ramen on it years ago. You were always pretty diligent at taking notes. Didn't you even sketch some of the forms he taught us during swordsmanship classes? We all learned his family's style-- though I'm sure over the years, we've all developed our own tweaks. He had the nicest long white hair, didn't he?" He gave the other man a wistful smile as he held the book out gently for him to take back, his fingertips twitching, ready to draw his sword and block any attacks if Takasugi even so much as moved wrong. He knew he'd probably crossed a line.

Everything he said sounded too detailed and familiar for him to be orchestrating a complete lie, and it still baffled Takasugi how someone knew him that well –even knew about Shoyou-sensei- and yet ceased to exist at all in his memories. His fingers slipped from his sword hilt, and he drew the scarf tighter around himself, face growing smooth in contemplation as he tried to remember. His mind only drew blank, unable to relate the face to the world he'd experienced, the one that had been taken away from him.

Reaching out, he calmly grabbed the book from Gintoki's fingers, well aware of his own attachment to it. These were the very words that Shoyou-sensei had taught him, and he wouldn't part with it to anyone. "If you truly knew him as I did then why can't I recall your face at all? It's always been me at his side. I was the one given the responsibility of making his visions realized. I fought for him in his name."

Gintoki's hand pulled back and he looked away, scratching at the nape of his neck slowly, thoughtfully. "I... don't know. I really don't. On my end, I know, you're someone I could never, ever forget."

The sake beside him steamed in the cold, fighting an admirable battle against the freezing temperatures. Gintoki reached in his pocket once more and fished out two nicked sake cups, offering one to Takasugi. The Fountain still wouldn't show him anything relevant. He caught glimpses now and then of rooftops and the terminal, but nothing interesting.

"It just keeps leading back to a curse."

That would make sense, but Takasugi couldn't recall any curses that lasted more than a day. It had been going on for a while now, though… since he'd woken up that day, and Bansai had told him he'd changed. Something in his rhythm was different, less rich than before. He only wished he could figure out what had happened –what integral part of him was now missing-, and it was starting to bother him because he should know this man in front of him and what he meant to himself.

Sitting down and holding a hand out towards the sake cup, he simply replied, "I want to know what happened between us. Not just by your word of mouth. I want the vivid experience in my mind. It's meaningless otherwise."

Gintoki placed the sake cup gingerly in the other's palm and grabbed a bottle, pouring the sake as his brows knit together. "That's a big thing to ask. We have well over twenty years together."

Yet he couldn't help the feeling of the Shiroyasha in the back of his mind, attention brought to the man in front of him as he sat so close, unaware. Gintoki pushed the urge to fight back down and gave a sigh. Something was definitely wrong, and he wasn't just talking about how Takasugi had conveniently forgot his existence and the sudden warmth he held.

How do you convey feelings, memories, emotions to those unwilling?

Takasugi still couldn't feel anything looking at his face. There was neither hate nor affection, simply a blank palette, though he had good reason to believe it had something to do with the blood that was now running through his veins.

"I remember what Shoyou-sensei told me-us about swordplay," he murmured, pausing to steal a sip of sake, "without the fundamentals perfected, one can never live up to their full potential. Those memories stolen make me lesser than what I used to be. I can't achieve Shoyou-sensei's goals this way."

Maybe it was the alcohol working through his system, or maybe it was his bruised pride from being forgotten. He grabbed Takasugi's wrist and leaned in close, nose brushing the other man's cheek as he moved to whisper in his ear, "How about I show you with your body, then? Who I am, and what we've been through, and what we'll continue to persevere against."

He didn't think there was anything worse feeling than being forgotten-- but perhaps he wasn't completely erased. Perhaps Takasugi's body would remember him, in more ways than one. Just maybe.

The cup fell out of Takasugi's lax fingers, the rest of the liquid spilling onto the ground as his eye widened slightly. Was that the kind of relationship he had with this man? He couldn't deny there was a certain instant attraction by being in proximity of him, something that spoke of Gintok's latent strength and a desire to see it manifested in battle.

His pulse raced pleasantly, one hand moving to his own chest to feel the heart beating, remembering how frozen it had been for so long while in the city. The alcohol did nothing to taper his interest, thinking along the same lines. What if his body could remember…?

Slowly, Takasugi's lips pulled back, the corners turning upwards in an amused smile. "They say when two warriors of equal strength face off against one another, Gintoki, they will know what the other is thinking immediately without ever voicing it." Turning his head to the side, he caught Gintoki's eyes with his own gaze, fascinated by the intensity in them.

Gintoki knocked the other sake cup over as he moved closer, the alcohol spilling over the side and onto the ground, and slid his hand under Takasugi's, feeling for his heart beating a fast pace underneath. It was really there, racing and strong.

The smile enticed him, sent his blood racing. "So tell me. Do you know what I'm thinking, then?"

Takasugi drew their joined hands lower, following along the lines of his bare chest, the yukata opening more as he slid downwards. The cold blanketing his flesh, goose bumps rising almost instantly, but he paid it no mind, more than used to those types of conditions after spending years on the battlefield.

Instead, he held the look in front of him, leaning forward until their lips hovered inches apart, the heat of Gintoki's breath spreading across his own lips. "Show me."

Gintoki's hand slid from Takasugi's at his waist, slipping around to the small of his back. He pressed a rough kiss to the other man's lips, tip of his tongue tasting the sake still on his breath, pulling him close as he felt the goose bumps rising on his skin. It was far too cold out here, but maybe--

He dragged the shorter man with him as he stood, walking back towards an apartment building, leading them into one of the semi-warm, dark rooms, uninhabited by anyone in the City. It would do for a night, at least, and when he flipped the light on, it was fairly small but furnished. "I can do more than show you."

There was every indication that this was a poor idea and had Takasugi the immediate presence of mind, he would have thought twice before following a stranger who claimed to have had an intimate past with him from leading him anywhere. However, alcohol served well to skew his judgment entirely, followed closely by Takasugi's own curiosity. He perhaps gave in a little too easily at the mention of Shouyou-sensei, but it was a sensitive subject, one that proved disadvantageous to him.

It still weighed heavily in his mind that this integral part of him was absent, enough that he removed the sword from his waist and let it drop heavily onto the ground before dragging Gintoki closer, fingers clenching tightly around his shirt. "Did I desire you in this way?" he asked, mouth finding Gintoki's again, lips dragging lazy across his as he spoke, "Or was I trying to kill you? Remind me."

Gintoki turned his head and captured his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying it lightly, and worked the white yukata off Takasugi's shoulders, wrapping his arms around his waist as he kissed him, thinking. When he pulled away, looking deeply into Takasugi's eyes, searching for any sort of sign... he found nothing.

"I suppose... I think it was a mixture of both. In all honesty. You..."

Wasn't he divulging far too much already? He shouldn't be telling him these things, but...

He knew somehow that he had to. It was far too dishonorable to leave Takasugi wide open like that. To be dishonest and lie to him. He couldn't let him live a lie. "You... I..."

He pulled him closer, lips against Takasugi's temple. "You think we betrayed you... Zura, Tatsuma, and I... because we left the war end and went to continue our fight in our own ways; the ways we thought would be more effective."

But they didn't. No one had meant to betray anyone. They went their seperate ways and... maybe Gintoki should've taken Takasugi with him. Or he should've stayed at his side...

To leave him alone after their teacher had died... looking back, that was far too horrible.

"Ah," Takasugi simply answered, letting the words filter into his head, but that's all they were still. Empty words with no meaning behind them. Gintoki could tell him lies, could tell him anything, but Takasugi only believed what he saw and felt with his own person.

There was no hatred or anger, and that much frustrated him because he knew under normal circumstances, he would stab this man before him without hesitation. Instead, he cupped the back of Gintoki's neck, head tilting up to take another kiss, this one long and filled with a certain desperation, tongue pushing roughly between his lips. He kissed him until his mouth felt numb -until it started to ache to keep pushing them together so hard- and when he finally drew back, he whispered, "Take what you want from me now because when I finally remember who you are to me, I will let the beast roam free and tear your heart out for what you've done."

Gintoki couldn't explain why, but that kiss made his heart ache. There was something incredibly sad and desperate about it. But he did realize one thing. If he wasn't even forgiven when he was forgotten, there was certainly no way it would ever happen.

But that also didn't mean he'd give up trying. He worked his winter haori off and let it fall to the floor, and as he pulled the knot around his waist loose, the sword clattered to the hardwood floor. His matching white yukata fell open next, also quickly disposed of. He went for the knot around Takasugi's waist, fumbling blindly behind his back for the loose end before finding it and pulling it.

"I will show you. I'll show you who I am, and what we've had together for twenty years. We made a blood oath and it still runs through our veins; I feel it gravitating towards you. If you still don't feel anything after tonight, I'll stop trying to make you remember."

It was a swear both in words and in heart. If he still couldn't remember, then maybe it was for the best that Gintoki was left forgotten.

There was fury in his eyes, a passion that intrigued Takasugi, and were it not that they shared a supposed history together, he would have loved to have this man fight at his side, but it seemed that in itself was an impossibility. Though, he never thought he'd find someone with the same kind of rage underscoring their veneer.

The same kind of beast.

The thought made Takasugi's lips pull back again, teeth bared as he finally brought his hands up to press them into Gintoki's shoulders, mouth latching onto his. He would let Gintoki try and fulfill his promise. He would allow that power to overcome him for the sake of rediscovering his hate. It wouldn't feel good and complete to kill this man otherwise.

His hands slid up Takasugi's chest, pushing the loose yukata off his shoulders and down his arms. The kiss was sweet-- rough, but the lingering taste of sake was nice, and he broke away, catching the other man's bottom lip between his teeth and sucking lightly. One of his hands came back to fumble with the zipper on his shirt, making quick work of shrugging it off, the other cradling Takasugi's neck, thumb stroking just behind his earlobe.

The pants were easy-- quickly stepped out of, and he moved to walk them to the bed just through the doorway, leg sliding between Takasugi's and brushing against his crotch. Again. They were doing it again, and he wondered if it would ever stop. But was there not some sort of feral attraction to the other? Gintoki wasn't able to fight whatever feeling it was between them, if there really was something there.

With his yukata on the floor, there was nothing left covering him, the cold seizing Takasugi again as he walked with Gintoki towards the bed, greedy fingers aiding in undressing the both of them. His tongue flicked out to lick Gintoki's top lip, sliding between his gums and the inside of his mouth slowly, every movement far more intimate than he'd allowed with his subordinate as he searched frantically for answers –any recognition this man's body had to offer him.

The backs of his knees finally hit the edge of the mattress, and he fell backwards, jerking a bit as his head connected with it. His hands grasped at Gintoki's biceps, pulling him forward immediately, trying not to let the cold seep in any deeper into his skin. It was different to do this while alive, every sense magnified where it had been dull and unfeeling, from the cold draft to the heat of Gintoki's flesh, and his thighs instantly slid apart at the first touch, seeking warmth by rubbing the smooth insides against Gintoki's hips.

They were smooth-- soft and smooth, running up the sides of his hips, and Gintoki pulled away from the cold hands and slid between Takasugi's legs, grasping one knee and rubbing his cheek along the inside of his thigh, leaving wet kisses up from the knee and back down. Even in the dim lighting, the man in front of him was so pale, his complexion creamy and white against the dark quilt on the bed.

On the second round back up, his hand lingered to stroke the tender skin, and his nose nudged Takasugi's cock, mahogany eyes looking back up. It wasn't the same as it used to be.

There was still no familiarity in the touch –just a sensation of foreign hands caressing his skin. One of Takasugi's hands moved back to his own heart, embracing the feeling of his pulse, but it had come at a certain cost, one he was beginning to regret the more Gintoki's eyes caught his.

Replacing his fingers around the dry perm, Takasugi tugged him upwards, trying to bring him closer again. It still felt peculiar to have no hate or contempt running through him. There was only curiosity tinged with frustration the further he tried to dig into his mind.

Gintoki hissed as his hair was pulled, but acquiesced and stood, allowing himself to be pulled back up, leaning close over Takasugi. His fingertips ran up the other man's side, then back down to his hip, ghosting over the soft skin. Gintoki couldn't help but thinking this was a completely different man beneath him-- and in a way, he was.

He leaned in closer, flush up against Takasugi, and kissed up his neck and along his jawbone, eyes closed. He didn't know what it would take, but... he hoped things would work out all right in the end.

Takasugi's fingers slid down from his hair, trailing over the back of Gintoki's neck, nails pressing inwards to leave harsh dents in his skin and curling around a few scant locks of hair. It hadn't been this gentle with anyone, and that in itself struck a wrong cord in him, making him flinch for a second, suddenly jerking Gintoki's head up to stare at him.

"We hate each other, don't we? You betrayed me and left my side." His eye narrowed, a sudden deadly ferocity moving through him as he used his free hand to rake down Gintoki's chest, following along the lines of firm, sculpted muscles. "Do it exactly as you would have… "

Gintoki cringed from the nails biting into his skin, but smirked all the same. "Nah, it's not my style. Not like this. And besides, I never said I hated you, Takasugi."

His hand slipped between them, grasping the cock that rubbed against his own, callous palm rough against the skin as he pumped it once, twice. He pressed a rough kiss to Takasugi's lips, tongue working its way in to curl around the side of the other man's, feeling his own erection forming.

Teeth bit back at Gintoki's mouth, grinding into skin as Takasugi's hand moved lower to reach in between Gintoki's legs, grasping and pumping him in return. His touch was anything but gentle, fingers moving frantically, clenching around warm flesh, knowing it was on the edge of painful.

"I want to hate you again," Takasugi hissed, his face growing vivid as he bucked up towards Gintoki's own palm. "I want to remember every little detail of why I hate you –every indiscretion you took against me." His mouth widened for a moment, letting out a harsh breath before he said the words that weighed so heavily in his mind. "I want it to feel just as good as this …when I kill you."

Gintoki's rough thumb rubbed over the slit at the head, biting the inside of his cheek as Takasugi's fingers closed tightly around his cock, nails scratching the sensitive skin. He fought the urge to shove his hips up into the hand, opting instead to stroke Takasugi harder, faster.

Things always ended up like this-- he didn't understand it, but he also wouldn't fight it. Wasn't the whole idea of fate that things come as they come?

It was nothing but empty pleasure, a feeling of detachment that felt unaligned with the sensations that sang through him, but even then, Takasugi focused on Gintoki's face, trying to relearn every expression that transformed it as he jerked Gintoki's cock roughly. There was no rhythm in his movement, hand driven more by anger than anything else.

After a moment, though, deciding things weren't moving quick enough or nearly as violently as he'd normally liked, Takasugi stopped and planted his feet on the mattress to create enough leverage to turn them over and slam Gintoki against it. He then settled over his lap, thighs spread over Gintoki's hips, sitting up enough to properly grind back and forward over him. It felt better this way, retaining some control and taking what he wanted –having someone strong beneath him.

Gintoki grunted as he was slammed against the mattress, the smooth thighs ever present against his skin as Takasugi began to grind against him. He could feel the pre-come gathering at the tip of his cock as he sat up, and went to spread it over the head, already starting to quiver from a mixture of want and the cold.

His large hands slid around behind Takasugi and grabbed his ass, pulling him closer as he ground his hips upwards. One hand strayed down, working a finger into the other's entrance, teeth gritting. Well, maybe things were bound to get rougher.

It ached, the sudden invasion, fingers moving inside of him, enough to make Takasugi press his teeth together tightly as he remained balanced on his knees. His palms rested flatly against Gintoki's chest, muscles visible straining as he held himself over him, waiting for Gintoki to finish, and his head hung low, sweat beading on the top of his lip, which Takasugi licked off, distracting himself with the look of hunger in the other man's eyes –like a chained demon, strapped and bound, waiting to devour its way free. He'd remember the word Bansai repeated over –a name he couldn't place but was now starting to make sense.

"Shiroyasha," he mumbled almost dazedly, voice on the edge of laughter.

Gintoki's eyes widened at the old name, just as he'd been about to slide a second finger in, both shoving in unceremoniously. "What did you just call me..?"

But it was beginning to spread, that warmth from his cock, aching for more of the sparse friction. He forced Takasugi flush up against him, stretching his neck to lave his tongue over his earlobe and whisper, "Say it again."

So this was the Shiroyasha –the one he was supposed to kill. The one Bansai had been livid with him for forgetting, and Takasugi wondered how he could throw away such an interesting beast. This person possessed a different kind of strength, only ever mirrored by that of Shoyou-sensei's.

Reaching behind himself, he grasped the tip of Gintoki's erection and positioned it, letting it barely just stretch the opening. Another wave of discomfort started to pass through him, well aware it would hurt, but he couldn't quite bring himself to care, thrilled by the ignited interest that shown so plainly in Gintoki's response.

"Shiroyasha," he repeated, voice a low rumble from the back of his throat.

Getting a firmer grasp on Takasugi's hips, Gintoki pulled him down onto his cock, hips rocking upwards. His groan was deep, and he turned to brush his nose against Takasugi's, tilting his head to press their lips together, a grin starting to spread.

"Are you starting to remember?" He lifted the other man up again and pulled him back down, eyelids fluttering at the tight warmth around his erection, the sound of Takasugi's breath, the way the mattress moved, the rustle of the comforter over the sheets all rushing together. It was a forced rhythm, but it was a rhythm that satiated him for now. All too suddenly, he was wanting more and more.

The burn of being stretched far too fast and all at once spiked up his lower back, and Takasugi couldn't do much in the way of stopping it, squeezing his eye shut and breathing harshly against Gintoki's mouth as he struggled through the pain. He still refused to pause even for a moment, aligning himself helplessly with Gintoki as if it were natural, as if his body alone could create a thousand lost memories.

"I don't know," he finally answered honestly before finding enough stability in himself to start moving along with Gintoki, using his legs to push himself up before dropping down roughly, the pain so intense it made his stomach turn unpleasantly and his eye water.

Once Takasugi began to move on his own, Gintoki busied his hands with the erection between then, palm rubbing circles over the head awkwardly as his breathing hitched. It was always... different with Takasugi. He was hard to read and even harder to follow-- he pushed his way through even at his own pace, even sex. He'd been the same way on the battlefield, and all Gintoki could do was hope to follow and keep up, molding his way around him. Things with Takasugi would never be easy, but maybe that was something else that kept drawing him back.

Both hands dug into Gintoki's shoulders, forcing him to sit up when Takasugi paused to readjust himself, wanting to be deeper and closer. He wound his arms around Gintoki's neck when he was finally sitting with him, feeling the sweat on both their skin, his own drenched enough to make his bangs stick to his forehead and the bandages on his head start to unravel a bit.

Squeezing his arms lightly around Gintoki's neck, he started moving over his lap again, bare chest dragging against Gintoki's as he raised himself only to slam down roughly. It was better this way, finding the best angle for himself, whatever sent the most pleasure skirting up his back, insides twisting tightly when he sank inside of him and it felt too unbearably good. He didn't even notice when the Shiroyasha's name tumbled free from his lips, wanting more, wanting to cling to this feeling, forgetting for several seconds that the man beneath him was still virtually a stranger. It didn't matter because he reminded Takasugi of Shoyou-sensei.

The silver-haired freelancer breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling in close beat to Takasugi's as his warmth enveloped him-- the heat of life, and something he hadn't felt from him in a long, long time. He could feel the heat kindling in his gut, the rhythm of his hand pumping the length between them falling into the same beat, fingers deftly stroking the underside, thumb circling the head slowly with every stroke. His senses flared, taking in everything. The soft, slick skin against his hips, the way Takasugi's bandages were beginning to loosen, their mingled scents, the shallow huff of the other man's breathing, the faint buzz of the light above them. The way the other's toes curled, the faint feel of his muscles against his own, nipples distinct against his chest.

Gintoki's fingers dug into Takasugi's hip, half-lidded eyes taking in every detail of his body. If there was one thing you had to say about him, it was that he was beautiful-- but even more so when his emotions burned in his eyes like hot coal and stirred the feral instincts inside of you. He closed his eyes and growled his name, husky and low in his throat. "Shinsuke..."

That was the breaking point, hearing his given name spoken with so much ferocity and emotion, completely different than the way Bansai or anyone else ever said it. There was recognition in that voice –a past thickly wrapped around it that suggested the two of them had more than just love or hatred towards each other. What was shared between them dug in deeper, and Takasugi selfishly wanted it all back.

He frantically impaled himself, hair bouncing over his face, his throat scorched as he breathed out too fast. Even his skin showed the first signs of exertion, red tinting his pale cheeks, unwilling to stop until every sensation coalesced into a sudden tension that seized him, making his chest burn and his head swim, disorienting him all too quickly. He released with a deep tremor against Gintoki's abdomen, completely silent save for a sharp gasp that echoed in the room, loud and poignant.

Afterwards, he sagged entirely against Gintoki's body, head dropping to his shoulder and muscles convulsing as he panted loudly against the other man's neck. He couldn't bring himself to move, a heaviness settling into him that made him want to drop dead right there, aided by the amount of sake he had consumed easier which was now taking a toll on his system. His size always put him at a disadvantage, never quite able to hold alcohol well, and his exhaustion stopped him from finishing Gintoki off properly.

Gintoki always had considered himself as the most selfish of them all, when it came right down to it. He was so close-- the muscles contracting around him, Takasugi's frantic pumping having left him so. Damn. Close. As the other man sagged against him, Gintoki circled his arms around him, holding him steady to his chest while he considered.

It didn't take him long to come to a conclusion, though, and he really was selfish. He got a firmer hold on Takasugi and lifted him, one arm circled tightly around his waist. He spread his legs wide, one hand sliding down his thigh to grasp him under the knee, and pumped up into him roughly, quickly.

Gintoki pushed him up enough so Takasugi's head rested against his shoulder, panting. He could feel the sweat trickling down his back, the still air in the abandoned apartment cooling him-- but it couldn't cool the white-hot spike quickly climbing up his spine.

The freelancer's stomach tightened, and his arms began to quiver as he impaled the man in his lap him once more, twice more, the pressure almost painful before he released inside of him, groaning deep. His muscles were stiff, arms aching from holding Takasugi up that long, no matter how light he was.

Maybe it was okay to rest for a bit. Just a few minutes... and then he'd go home. He laid back against the bed, pulling Takasugi over him and twisting his fingers in the damp, dark hair at the nape of his neck, too tired to pull out. "Shinsuke..."

Everything ached, but Takasugi didn't have the energy to complain to Gintoki about abusing his body at the moment, especially since he felt like deadweight. It was the tiredness that rendered him immobile, enough that he docilely allowed Gintoki to hold him afterwards, remaining over his firm body, breath starting to even out.

The smell that lingered on his skin reached his nose, and Takasugi inhaled it, surprised to find that it matched the yukata he had been wearing earlier –the one he'd found strewn in his own apartment. That meant there was some definite truth behind his words earlier, or at least, Takasugi had a good base to start with. He'd get his subordinates to fill in the rest of the holes for him later, but for now, he was satisfied to remain in place, trying not to think of how different everything will seem in the morning when he's sober.