the only fool in the chain is you
Ginzura, Teens.
A/n: Here have my utterly self-indulgent ten-minute job.
Warnings: sexual content, mature themes
Disclaimer: Gintama ain't mine.
the only fool in the chain is you
Gintoki didn't really know what to do, so he crept up behind Katsura and shoved him into the pond. There was a shriek, and a colossal splash, and Gintoki spent the whole of next week on hall-wiping duty.
"Gintoki, this is so unlike you," Shouyou had said, holding a shivering Katsura (wrapped in fluffy white towels) to his chest. "I think we're going to need a little private chat later."
It had not been Gintoki's fault; Katsura was just annoying. He had annoyingly soft hair and annoyingly neat clothes and annoyingly guileless brown eyes (brown, of all colours! It was an irritating, distracting hue, unlike green or black). If Katsura hadn't crouched down by the pond, staring with wonder at the fat frog on the lily pad, the nape of his neck startlingly white against his dark tresses, Gintoki would not have felt compelled to push him.
Katsura did not pick a fight with Gintoki; he never did. He went about his days as usual, taking strolls and fussing over the cuts on Takasugi's elbows and making onigiri in his spare time. Gintoki found himself growing irate towards Takasugi, and challenged him to a match. He won, of course; and he had made sure Katsura was watching (because it was annoying how he cooed at Takasugi and would probably stop if Gintoki kicked that bastard's ass). Katsura only blinked, padded over to Takasugi, and tried to help him up. Takasugi slapped his hand away, glared at Gintoki, and said, "Two out of three!"
Gintoki declined, and then casually tripped a wig on his way out.
The next week, in class, he dropped a beetle down Katsura's kimono. That wasn't his fault, either. If Katsura didn't pay so much attention to his books, didn't have that thoughtful little furrow in his brow, Gintoki wouldn't have felt like disturbing him. He sat back and grinned satisfactorily as Katsura, under Shouyou's flabbergasted look, leapt two feet in the air and scrabbled at his clothes, wailing.
"Gintoki," said Shouyou, more sternly this time, his hand still curled into a fist, "go wipe the hall and then sit with me outside."
Gintoki plumped down miserably beside Shouyou on the wooden steps to the temple school, nursing the egg-sized lump on his head.
Shouyou did not smile as he spoke. "Gintoki, I don't understand what's gotten into you. I'll be the first person to admit you're a bit of a brat, but you've never picked on people for fun. Not like that." He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his haori and frowned. "Care to explain what makes Kotarou-kun special?"
"He's not special," Gintoki practically spat. "He's annoying. If he doesn't want me to piss him off, he should be less annoying."
"Now, Gintoki," said Shouyou in a low, serious tone, "don't be unreasonable. You are the only one to blame here."
Gintoki wiped his nose sullenly. His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment - both from Shouyou's chiding and his own (admittedly shameful) behaviour.
"You will apologise to Kotarou-kun. Properly. Request him to forgive you. If he doesn't, well, I don't blame him."
After Shouyou dismissed him, Gintoki stumped off into the woods, kicking a pebble and grumbling to himself. He hoped viciously that a bear would maul him, so that Shouyou would find him in the rain, lying face-down in a pool of his own blood, and would collapse to his knees and weep, and wish he had not admonished him.
***
He was fifteen when the dreams started.
Gintoki knew well enough about them; the older boys chattered about the topic incessantly, only shutting up when Shouyou was present. For two years they had teased Gintoki, telling him to pull down his pants so they could confirm he was really a boy. It wasn't that annoying; if they got too uppity Gintoki beat them soundly into the ground, and prim, priggish Zura would sigh and shake his head.
(Somewhere along the line he'd starting calling Katsura 'Zura'; he had lied about the name being too long. No one used the name 'Zura' but him, and that made Gintoki oddly smug, but then Takasugi started using it too, and that made Gintoki see red.)
Not long after his birthday he slipped into one of those dreams he'd only heard of. He knew it was a dream, because everything was hazy around the edges and he was licking slowly into Zura's mouth and his fingers were tangled in smooth sable hair and they were both moaning and Zura's hand was hot around them both -
Gintoki woke to sticky, sweat-soaked sheets. A sickle moon still hung in the sky, and the room was painted in pale light. Gintoki took several long breaths and then realised, with dawning horror, that he would have to wash his sheets, and everyone would know, because it wasn't laundry day. He glared at the futon next to him, where a stupid, stupid wig snored with its eyes half-open and a tiny puddle of drool on its otherwise spotless pillow.
The moment the sun began to rise he stomped on Zura's hand. "Oh, sorry, didn't see it there," he drawled, picking a booger from his nose, as Zura rolled around and made a lot of noise and earned them both dirty looks and death threats.
It was Zura's fault, it was.
***
It hurt everywhere.
"Are you okay?" Zura mumbled, after he had finished vomiting up seawater onto the sand. With jerky movements he removed the ridiculous parachute from his shoulders.
"Of course I'm not okay!" Gintoki snapped, struggling to his knees. "I've got broken ribs and a black eye and I'll be in hospital for the next week at least."
Zura stood up on shaky legs, swayed like tall grass in the wind, and then dropped back down on his ass. He clutched his shoulder, and then Gintoki remembered (of course) that he had been hurt. "Oi, you all right?"
"Nn, fine," Zura said through gritted teeth. Gintoki crawled over to him (he didn't have the energy to walk) and, ignoring Zura's protests, pulled aside his kimono. A deep gash, held closed by clumsy stitches, ran jaggedly from Zura's shoulder all the way across his torso, ending almost at his opposite hip.
Gintoki's heart hammered frantically against his rib-cage (shithe'shurtbadshitshitshit), but he forced himself to quip, "Looks like you'll be in hospital, too, eh?"
"Mm," Zura said, dropping his head on Gintoki's shoulder. After a moment his breathing grew even and shallow.
"Zura?"
No response.
Cursing, Gintoki hauled Zura into something resembling a standing position, ignoring his own screaming ribs, and began to shuffle towards the road. "You won't die on me, you selfish bastard," he whispered. Zura's lips were pursed, his face ashen, his forehead smooth.
A good while later Gintoki lay in a hospital bed watching the news on a static-ridden television. Old Matsudaira was prattling on about the Harusame and Kondo was obviously trying his best not to appear guilty (considering the Shinsengumi had been nowhere in damn sight during the whole Kiheitai fiasco).
Sighing, Gintoki shut off the television and glanced to his left, where Zura dozed quietly on his own bed. This mess all his fault, Gintoki thought, carefully getting up and trundling towards the other man. For a time he gazed at Zura's face, at the soft line of his jaw, at the long lashes almost brushing his cheek. Bending down, Gintoki placed a kiss on the little furrow on his brow.
This was what he had been reduced to.
When Zura woke up an hour later Gintoki said, "Everything is your fault. I hope you step on a Lego."
"You stupid perm," Zura replied. "Get me some water."
They argued, and jostled, and fought over which movie to watch at night. Gintoki leaned back against his pillow and sulked as a melodramatic rom-com played on the screen. Later, when Zura got up and kissed him, he twirled a lock of dark hair around his finger and said softly, "I haven't forgiven you."
-end-
A/n: Here have my utterly self-indulgent ten-minute job.
Warnings: sexual content, mature themes
Disclaimer: Gintama ain't mine.
the only fool in the chain is you
Gintoki didn't really know what to do, so he crept up behind Katsura and shoved him into the pond. There was a shriek, and a colossal splash, and Gintoki spent the whole of next week on hall-wiping duty.
"Gintoki, this is so unlike you," Shouyou had said, holding a shivering Katsura (wrapped in fluffy white towels) to his chest. "I think we're going to need a little private chat later."
It had not been Gintoki's fault; Katsura was just annoying. He had annoyingly soft hair and annoyingly neat clothes and annoyingly guileless brown eyes (brown, of all colours! It was an irritating, distracting hue, unlike green or black). If Katsura hadn't crouched down by the pond, staring with wonder at the fat frog on the lily pad, the nape of his neck startlingly white against his dark tresses, Gintoki would not have felt compelled to push him.
Katsura did not pick a fight with Gintoki; he never did. He went about his days as usual, taking strolls and fussing over the cuts on Takasugi's elbows and making onigiri in his spare time. Gintoki found himself growing irate towards Takasugi, and challenged him to a match. He won, of course; and he had made sure Katsura was watching (because it was annoying how he cooed at Takasugi and would probably stop if Gintoki kicked that bastard's ass). Katsura only blinked, padded over to Takasugi, and tried to help him up. Takasugi slapped his hand away, glared at Gintoki, and said, "Two out of three!"
Gintoki declined, and then casually tripped a wig on his way out.
The next week, in class, he dropped a beetle down Katsura's kimono. That wasn't his fault, either. If Katsura didn't pay so much attention to his books, didn't have that thoughtful little furrow in his brow, Gintoki wouldn't have felt like disturbing him. He sat back and grinned satisfactorily as Katsura, under Shouyou's flabbergasted look, leapt two feet in the air and scrabbled at his clothes, wailing.
"Gintoki," said Shouyou, more sternly this time, his hand still curled into a fist, "go wipe the hall and then sit with me outside."
Gintoki plumped down miserably beside Shouyou on the wooden steps to the temple school, nursing the egg-sized lump on his head.
Shouyou did not smile as he spoke. "Gintoki, I don't understand what's gotten into you. I'll be the first person to admit you're a bit of a brat, but you've never picked on people for fun. Not like that." He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his haori and frowned. "Care to explain what makes Kotarou-kun special?"
"He's not special," Gintoki practically spat. "He's annoying. If he doesn't want me to piss him off, he should be less annoying."
"Now, Gintoki," said Shouyou in a low, serious tone, "don't be unreasonable. You are the only one to blame here."
Gintoki wiped his nose sullenly. His cheeks were flaming with embarrassment - both from Shouyou's chiding and his own (admittedly shameful) behaviour.
"You will apologise to Kotarou-kun. Properly. Request him to forgive you. If he doesn't, well, I don't blame him."
After Shouyou dismissed him, Gintoki stumped off into the woods, kicking a pebble and grumbling to himself. He hoped viciously that a bear would maul him, so that Shouyou would find him in the rain, lying face-down in a pool of his own blood, and would collapse to his knees and weep, and wish he had not admonished him.
***
He was fifteen when the dreams started.
Gintoki knew well enough about them; the older boys chattered about the topic incessantly, only shutting up when Shouyou was present. For two years they had teased Gintoki, telling him to pull down his pants so they could confirm he was really a boy. It wasn't that annoying; if they got too uppity Gintoki beat them soundly into the ground, and prim, priggish Zura would sigh and shake his head.
(Somewhere along the line he'd starting calling Katsura 'Zura'; he had lied about the name being too long. No one used the name 'Zura' but him, and that made Gintoki oddly smug, but then Takasugi started using it too, and that made Gintoki see red.)
Not long after his birthday he slipped into one of those dreams he'd only heard of. He knew it was a dream, because everything was hazy around the edges and he was licking slowly into Zura's mouth and his fingers were tangled in smooth sable hair and they were both moaning and Zura's hand was hot around them both -
Gintoki woke to sticky, sweat-soaked sheets. A sickle moon still hung in the sky, and the room was painted in pale light. Gintoki took several long breaths and then realised, with dawning horror, that he would have to wash his sheets, and everyone would know, because it wasn't laundry day. He glared at the futon next to him, where a stupid, stupid wig snored with its eyes half-open and a tiny puddle of drool on its otherwise spotless pillow.
The moment the sun began to rise he stomped on Zura's hand. "Oh, sorry, didn't see it there," he drawled, picking a booger from his nose, as Zura rolled around and made a lot of noise and earned them both dirty looks and death threats.
It was Zura's fault, it was.
***
It hurt everywhere.
"Are you okay?" Zura mumbled, after he had finished vomiting up seawater onto the sand. With jerky movements he removed the ridiculous parachute from his shoulders.
"Of course I'm not okay!" Gintoki snapped, struggling to his knees. "I've got broken ribs and a black eye and I'll be in hospital for the next week at least."
Zura stood up on shaky legs, swayed like tall grass in the wind, and then dropped back down on his ass. He clutched his shoulder, and then Gintoki remembered (of course) that he had been hurt. "Oi, you all right?"
"Nn, fine," Zura said through gritted teeth. Gintoki crawled over to him (he didn't have the energy to walk) and, ignoring Zura's protests, pulled aside his kimono. A deep gash, held closed by clumsy stitches, ran jaggedly from Zura's shoulder all the way across his torso, ending almost at his opposite hip.
Gintoki's heart hammered frantically against his rib-cage (shithe'shurtbadshitshitshit), but he forced himself to quip, "Looks like you'll be in hospital, too, eh?"
"Mm," Zura said, dropping his head on Gintoki's shoulder. After a moment his breathing grew even and shallow.
"Zura?"
No response.
Cursing, Gintoki hauled Zura into something resembling a standing position, ignoring his own screaming ribs, and began to shuffle towards the road. "You won't die on me, you selfish bastard," he whispered. Zura's lips were pursed, his face ashen, his forehead smooth.
A good while later Gintoki lay in a hospital bed watching the news on a static-ridden television. Old Matsudaira was prattling on about the Harusame and Kondo was obviously trying his best not to appear guilty (considering the Shinsengumi had been nowhere in damn sight during the whole Kiheitai fiasco).
Sighing, Gintoki shut off the television and glanced to his left, where Zura dozed quietly on his own bed. This mess all his fault, Gintoki thought, carefully getting up and trundling towards the other man. For a time he gazed at Zura's face, at the soft line of his jaw, at the long lashes almost brushing his cheek. Bending down, Gintoki placed a kiss on the little furrow on his brow.
This was what he had been reduced to.
When Zura woke up an hour later Gintoki said, "Everything is your fault. I hope you step on a Lego."
"You stupid perm," Zura replied. "Get me some water."
They argued, and jostled, and fought over which movie to watch at night. Gintoki leaned back against his pillow and sulked as a melodramatic rom-com played on the screen. Later, when Zura got up and kissed him, he twirled a lock of dark hair around his finger and said softly, "I haven't forgiven you."
-end-