lay my cards out on the table
Ginzura, General.
Disclaimer: Gintama ain't mine.
Warnings for profanity.
lay my cards out on the table
"Oi, oi, what's this plum filling? We wanted tuna mayo." Gintoki sidled up close to Katsura, just to annoy him. He stuck his chin over his shoulder, so his damp, sweet breath was all down Katsura's neck.
Katsura lightly head-butted him and scowled, not stopping in making the onigiri. "I've got tuna mayo, too; it's in that bowl over there. And you're not allowed to complain, anyway, Gintoki. I'm only doing this because you begged me to." Katsura had been disturbed from some paperwork by a phone call. As soon as he heard Gintoki's singsong, saccharine voice, he had cut the line, but the stupid perm had kept calling till Katsura relented with a weary sigh.
"Hey, the kids were hungry, we didn't have the money to go out, and I'm a shit cook, as you know. Helping a pal out is just standard, you know?" said Gintoki, picking a massive green booger from his nose and rolling it between his index finger and thumb.
"Gross, don't do that in the kitchen. Hey, get your hand out of the rice - !"
They sat down to onigiri and steaming vegetable tempura. Kagura whooped with joy, Shinpachi wiped away a tear and blessed Katsura thrice over, and Gintoki continued to dig around his nose with his pinky. Then Sadaharu trotted over and flumped into Kagura's lap and upset the table, and suddenly there was rice everywhere and hot oil searing Gintoki's hand.
Katsura tucked his hands into the sleeves of his haori and calmly imagined a deserted beach with soft pale sand and clear waves. Mentally distancing himself from the Yorozuya's tomfoolery was an art he had long since mastered. "I saved some food because I thought this would happen," he said, after the shrieks died down. Sadaharu gave a happy bark and Gintoki, who had been flung over the back of the couch, gave a pained groan.
When Kagura's belly was bulging like a watermelon over her pants and Shinpachi and Gintoki were snoring softly on the carpet, Katsura cleared up the table and washed the dishes, shaking his head. He took note of the fact that the house was short on sponges and soap, and decided he would request Gintoki to buy some later, even though he knew the damn perm would put it off till they were eating off filthy, germ-ridden plates.
Half an hour later, Katsura said at the door, "I put Kagura to bed. Make sure she and Shinpachi eat enough vegetables; they're growing children. And mop your floor once in a while; it's so dusty someone is going to fall ill."
"Nag, nag, nag," Gintoki replied, scratching his scalp. A patch of sunlight painted his hair a faint gold, and Katsura tore his eyes away from it. "What are you, their mother?"
Katsura refrained, with what he considered great willpower, from commenting on Gintoki's own parenting skills, or lack thereof. "If you need a job, I can send you a paper. Actually, I know someone who needs her roof fixed, so maybe you could - "
"Yes, yes, Zura. Now I'm busy, so I'll see you around."
"Okay."
"All right, then."
Katsura dropped his gaze. For a while he dithered, chewing his lip. He shuffled his feet. On his back the sun was scorching; sweat gathered uncomfortably at the collar of his kimono.
"What?"
Katsura shook his head. "Nothing. Bye, Gintoki," he said quickly, and began to head down the stairs on trembling legs. He felt dazed, as if drifting through a dream, and gripped the railing tightly so he wouldn't lose his balance and topple right off onto the dirt road.
He was about halfway down when he heard rapid, heavy footsteps. Before he could turn around a pair of strong arms wound tight around him and Gintoki's mouth was close, too close, his breath warm on Katsura's cheek. The gesture was so bizarrely out of character for Gintoki that for a moment Katsura wondered if he really was dreaming. "Gintoki?" he said haltingly.
"You didn't think I'd forget your birthday?" Gintoki murmured into his ear.
Katsura jolted and then stammered weakly, "N - no."
"Liar." Gintoki turned him around and hugged him tightly, so his lips were pressed up against Gintoki's shoulder and he could taste the stale, old fabric of his shirt. His elbow was squished between them at an awkward, somewhat painful angle, but he found that he didn't really mind. "You're such a terrible liar, Zura."
"Katsura."
Gintoki chuckled. "Happy birthday."
They stayed in that position for a time, unmindful of the stares some strangers threw at them. Katsura thought he glimpsed Gintoki flip someone the bird.
At length Gintoki stepped away. "Come on," he said cheerily, slinging an arm over Katsura's shoulder, "let's go have a drink."
"Are you serious?" Katsura replied, feeling a smile spread across his face despite himself. "It's barely two in the afternoon."
Gintoki waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Details, who cares?"
"You're broke."
"Details."
Within two hours they had, as Katsura had silently predicted, been kicked out of a pub. They stumbled along the rubbish-strewn alley, giggling like children and supporting each other by the shoulders. A wave of dizziness overcame Katsura, and he disentangled himself from Gintoki to lean heavily against a wall. He was about to suggest they go home and take a nap when a sharp voice rang out.
"Oi, what are you two doing?"
Katsura's face was promptly smashed into a brick, and he squawked and flailed as Gintoki drawled, "Ah? It's none of your business, Mr. Policeman. Can't a guy settle his scores without someone interfering?"
"You can," replied the voice, which Katsura now recognised as Okita Sougo's. He made a great show of struggling against Gintoki's grip on his head, and growled. "But it's my business to stop scuffles before they get bloody."
"What lies!" Gintoki shot back. "You're the type who'd wait around for someone to bleed just so you can enjoy the show."
"True enough."
Katsura could hear the smile in Okita's voice. Gintoki grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, and he yelped. "Are you gonna let us finish?" Gintoki said impatiently.
"Yes, yes," returned Okita, "but if one of you dies, I'm not taking responsibility."
"You never take responsibility for anything," Gintoki muttered as soon as Okita was out of earshot. He released Katsura, who groaned and massaged his shoulder. "You moron, that hurt," he snapped. "Did you have to be so rough?" He delicately felt around his face and then glanced at his hand. There was no blood.
"I had to be realistic," Gintoki replied. "Or did you want that dumb police officer to see your face and arrest you on the damn spot?"
They glared at each other, fists clenched. After a moment, they began to chortle, and then burst into laughter. They laughed till they were bent in half and tears squeezed out of their eyes. As Katsura was wiping his lashes, Gintoki pulled him into a firm embrace, his chuckles feathery and low, his breath brushing the nape of Katsura's neck.
"You're such an idiot," Gintoki whispered, stroking his hand along Katsura's back. "Such an idiot, Zura." He stepped away, meeting Katsura's gaze, and ran a callused finger along his jaw before tipping his chin up and kissing him, slow and warm. The kiss was clumsy, coltish even, and tasted of sake and sugar, but Katsura found that he didn't really mind. He placed a hand on Gintoki's neck and toyed with a rough, corkscrew curl.
Gintoki broke away and breathed against his lips, "How do I ever put up with you?"
"Mm, I don't know," replied Katsura absently, trying to blink away the stars circling in his vision. "Kiss me again and we might figure it out."
Gintoki laughed and did just that, pressing Katsura against a wall and twining their fingers together. Katsura let his eyes slip closed and sighed, allowing Gintoki to lead.
"Woah," Okita's voice cut in, making them break apart abruptly, "that was an unexpected development. I came back to check if anyone was dead and - hey, wait...aren't you Katsu...what the ever-loving fuck, Sakata?!"
Disclaimer: Gintama ain't mine.
Warnings for profanity.
lay my cards out on the table
"Oi, oi, what's this plum filling? We wanted tuna mayo." Gintoki sidled up close to Katsura, just to annoy him. He stuck his chin over his shoulder, so his damp, sweet breath was all down Katsura's neck.
Katsura lightly head-butted him and scowled, not stopping in making the onigiri. "I've got tuna mayo, too; it's in that bowl over there. And you're not allowed to complain, anyway, Gintoki. I'm only doing this because you begged me to." Katsura had been disturbed from some paperwork by a phone call. As soon as he heard Gintoki's singsong, saccharine voice, he had cut the line, but the stupid perm had kept calling till Katsura relented with a weary sigh.
"Hey, the kids were hungry, we didn't have the money to go out, and I'm a shit cook, as you know. Helping a pal out is just standard, you know?" said Gintoki, picking a massive green booger from his nose and rolling it between his index finger and thumb.
"Gross, don't do that in the kitchen. Hey, get your hand out of the rice - !"
They sat down to onigiri and steaming vegetable tempura. Kagura whooped with joy, Shinpachi wiped away a tear and blessed Katsura thrice over, and Gintoki continued to dig around his nose with his pinky. Then Sadaharu trotted over and flumped into Kagura's lap and upset the table, and suddenly there was rice everywhere and hot oil searing Gintoki's hand.
Katsura tucked his hands into the sleeves of his haori and calmly imagined a deserted beach with soft pale sand and clear waves. Mentally distancing himself from the Yorozuya's tomfoolery was an art he had long since mastered. "I saved some food because I thought this would happen," he said, after the shrieks died down. Sadaharu gave a happy bark and Gintoki, who had been flung over the back of the couch, gave a pained groan.
When Kagura's belly was bulging like a watermelon over her pants and Shinpachi and Gintoki were snoring softly on the carpet, Katsura cleared up the table and washed the dishes, shaking his head. He took note of the fact that the house was short on sponges and soap, and decided he would request Gintoki to buy some later, even though he knew the damn perm would put it off till they were eating off filthy, germ-ridden plates.
Half an hour later, Katsura said at the door, "I put Kagura to bed. Make sure she and Shinpachi eat enough vegetables; they're growing children. And mop your floor once in a while; it's so dusty someone is going to fall ill."
"Nag, nag, nag," Gintoki replied, scratching his scalp. A patch of sunlight painted his hair a faint gold, and Katsura tore his eyes away from it. "What are you, their mother?"
Katsura refrained, with what he considered great willpower, from commenting on Gintoki's own parenting skills, or lack thereof. "If you need a job, I can send you a paper. Actually, I know someone who needs her roof fixed, so maybe you could - "
"Yes, yes, Zura. Now I'm busy, so I'll see you around."
"Okay."
"All right, then."
Katsura dropped his gaze. For a while he dithered, chewing his lip. He shuffled his feet. On his back the sun was scorching; sweat gathered uncomfortably at the collar of his kimono.
"What?"
Katsura shook his head. "Nothing. Bye, Gintoki," he said quickly, and began to head down the stairs on trembling legs. He felt dazed, as if drifting through a dream, and gripped the railing tightly so he wouldn't lose his balance and topple right off onto the dirt road.
He was about halfway down when he heard rapid, heavy footsteps. Before he could turn around a pair of strong arms wound tight around him and Gintoki's mouth was close, too close, his breath warm on Katsura's cheek. The gesture was so bizarrely out of character for Gintoki that for a moment Katsura wondered if he really was dreaming. "Gintoki?" he said haltingly.
"You didn't think I'd forget your birthday?" Gintoki murmured into his ear.
Katsura jolted and then stammered weakly, "N - no."
"Liar." Gintoki turned him around and hugged him tightly, so his lips were pressed up against Gintoki's shoulder and he could taste the stale, old fabric of his shirt. His elbow was squished between them at an awkward, somewhat painful angle, but he found that he didn't really mind. "You're such a terrible liar, Zura."
"Katsura."
Gintoki chuckled. "Happy birthday."
They stayed in that position for a time, unmindful of the stares some strangers threw at them. Katsura thought he glimpsed Gintoki flip someone the bird.
At length Gintoki stepped away. "Come on," he said cheerily, slinging an arm over Katsura's shoulder, "let's go have a drink."
"Are you serious?" Katsura replied, feeling a smile spread across his face despite himself. "It's barely two in the afternoon."
Gintoki waved a dismissive hand in the air. "Details, who cares?"
"You're broke."
"Details."
Within two hours they had, as Katsura had silently predicted, been kicked out of a pub. They stumbled along the rubbish-strewn alley, giggling like children and supporting each other by the shoulders. A wave of dizziness overcame Katsura, and he disentangled himself from Gintoki to lean heavily against a wall. He was about to suggest they go home and take a nap when a sharp voice rang out.
"Oi, what are you two doing?"
Katsura's face was promptly smashed into a brick, and he squawked and flailed as Gintoki drawled, "Ah? It's none of your business, Mr. Policeman. Can't a guy settle his scores without someone interfering?"
"You can," replied the voice, which Katsura now recognised as Okita Sougo's. He made a great show of struggling against Gintoki's grip on his head, and growled. "But it's my business to stop scuffles before they get bloody."
"What lies!" Gintoki shot back. "You're the type who'd wait around for someone to bleed just so you can enjoy the show."
"True enough."
Katsura could hear the smile in Okita's voice. Gintoki grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back, and he yelped. "Are you gonna let us finish?" Gintoki said impatiently.
"Yes, yes," returned Okita, "but if one of you dies, I'm not taking responsibility."
"You never take responsibility for anything," Gintoki muttered as soon as Okita was out of earshot. He released Katsura, who groaned and massaged his shoulder. "You moron, that hurt," he snapped. "Did you have to be so rough?" He delicately felt around his face and then glanced at his hand. There was no blood.
"I had to be realistic," Gintoki replied. "Or did you want that dumb police officer to see your face and arrest you on the damn spot?"
They glared at each other, fists clenched. After a moment, they began to chortle, and then burst into laughter. They laughed till they were bent in half and tears squeezed out of their eyes. As Katsura was wiping his lashes, Gintoki pulled him into a firm embrace, his chuckles feathery and low, his breath brushing the nape of Katsura's neck.
"You're such an idiot," Gintoki whispered, stroking his hand along Katsura's back. "Such an idiot, Zura." He stepped away, meeting Katsura's gaze, and ran a callused finger along his jaw before tipping his chin up and kissing him, slow and warm. The kiss was clumsy, coltish even, and tasted of sake and sugar, but Katsura found that he didn't really mind. He placed a hand on Gintoki's neck and toyed with a rough, corkscrew curl.
Gintoki broke away and breathed against his lips, "How do I ever put up with you?"
"Mm, I don't know," replied Katsura absently, trying to blink away the stars circling in his vision. "Kiss me again and we might figure it out."
Gintoki laughed and did just that, pressing Katsura against a wall and twining their fingers together. Katsura let his eyes slip closed and sighed, allowing Gintoki to lead.
"Woah," Okita's voice cut in, making them break apart abruptly, "that was an unexpected development. I came back to check if anyone was dead and - hey, wait...aren't you Katsu...what the ever-loving fuck, Sakata?!"