Something’s Burning: I will be the water for your thirst. [Gintama, 7/8]
GINTAMA and all characters/ideas/concepts/places therein are not mine, although the writing certainly is.
Title: Something’s Burning: I will be the water for your thirst.
Characters/Pairing(s): Kawakami Bansai and Takasugi Shinsuke
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A possible look into how Kawakami Bansai and Takasugi Shinsuke met, and why Bansai follows Takasugi in the first place. Part seven of eight.
Warnings? Graphic sex between two men.
Notes: This takes place before the start of Gintama, well after the end of the Joui resistance but years before the beginning of the series.
Something’s Burning: I will be the water for your thirst.
Bansai returned from his latest assignment at noon, right on the dot. He was lucky in the sense that he was coming back ahead of schedule; he knew that well. The mission could have easily taken another turn, forcing him to see everything through personally. Still, the musician could not shake the feeling that he had dawdled for too long and wasted too much time on inconsequential matters. The cause was, after all, nothing without the man behind it.
That feeling was confirmed the moment he stepped onto the Kihetai’s flagship. The others were quick to inform him that Takasugi-dono was in a foul mood. He had spent the twelve days of Kawakami-dono’s absence haunting the officer’s quarters of the boat, refusing any offers to assist him, snapping at anyone who dared to approach or had the misfortune of stumbling upon him. The attendants were at their wit’s end, and had taken to leaving food and drink for him at the doorways of the rooms he ended up drifting into. They feared their leader, but they were fiercely loyal to him. Pleasing him was what many of them seemed to exist for.
Bansai listened to their grievances politely, and without comment. He set off without asking them where Takasugi was: it was probably one of the rooms on the top floor of the east side of the boat, given the direction that the wind was blowing in. Among those rooms, he knew, for a fact, that Takasugi had a particular fondness for the one with murals of wild clouds, cherry blossom trees and sparrows. He expected to find the leader of the Kihetai sitting by the window, wrapped up in an elegant kimono and a great amount of impatience, armed with his favorite pipe, glaring off towards the ocean. He was right about the window and the kimono, and wrong on every other account. Takasugi was sleeping.
The musician lingered a moment in the doorway, taking in the sight of his master slumped against the sill, framed by sunlight and touched by a constant, pleasant wind. He slid the door shut without a sound and approached, fully intending on sneaking up on his master. He managed to get halfway across the room when Takasugi stirred. The younger man’s one good eye cracked open, to trace the rest of Bansai’s progress towards him. “You’re late,” he said, soft, imperious and accusatory. The sound made Bansai smile.
“So you were lonely without me, mm?”
“Don’t try my patience.”
Bansai chuckled in response. He reached out, brushing his leader’s bangs away out of the latter’s eyes. “I daresay that patience is a virtue that you ought to learn, Shinsuke,” he serenely replied, as he bent down, planting a kiss on the other’s forehead. “Good things always come to those who wait.”
Takasugi scoffed and looked away, unmoved by Bansai’s affections. “And you ought to know better than to scold me like I’m a child.”
Where were the imperious demands, the death threats and the drawn daggers? Months back, at the beginning, there would have been a fight. There might have been bruises, dislocations, maybe a little blood drawn. The Takasugi Shinsuke who was speaking to him now was worlds apart from the quiet and shattered thing Bansai had nearly killed in the process of bringing back from the edge.
The last three months had been a journey in white linen bandages, antiseptic and frozen silence, with a Takasugi who did not talk any more than necessary, did little beyond stare out and look at something beyond the skies whenever he wasn't giving out orders. Not another mention of That One nor the other two who had been his comrades, not once, not even another hint beyond the invisible weight pressed down against his neck and on his shoulders and over his lips.
There did not seem to be a trace of that at the moment, but there wasn’t any trace of the Takasugi who had sought him out, whom he had decided to follow and eventually kill. What would he find, if he looked hard enough? What would he see, if he listened for a new edge to that voice, or attempted to read a different sort of need - a distinct sort of desperation - on those fingertips? Those questions drove him forward, bringing his hand underneath Takasugi’s chin, tilting the man’s face towards his, forcing him to look. The tremor he felt beneath his leader’s skin was an affirmation.
“Can’t live without me now, mm?”
Takasugi’s response was swift, in the way one hand went up to strike him. Bansai effortlessly batted it away. He caught Takasugi’s wrist when the other tried again, and pinned it to the wall. The next one soon followed.
“Release me, Bansai.”
The smoldering look in Takasugi’s one good eye had been enough to send most people fleeing from the room. Bansai merely leaned forward, tracing the other’s earlobe with a single, slow lick.
“Now why would I do that?”
One leg kicked at his shin. He dragged one wrist down and forward, twisting Takasugi about in a single movement, holding him by his offending arm against his own body. He could feel the shake of his leader’s breath just over his face.
“How energetic,” he mildly remarked, staring down rather coolly at Takasugi’s face. The younger man smirked.
“Spite has always been my best motivator, has it not?”
Still so cold and haughty, even when he was in such a compromising position, even with the slightest trace of pain lining the edge of his voice. Bansai tightened the grip he had on Takasugi’s arm, feeling the man wince. He knew it had been the arm he had mangled up the most during their fight. He did not care. He reached down between Takasugi’s legs, palming the other’s cock through the fabric of his kimono.
“Hard already. I’m not surprised.”
Whatever snipe Takasugi had for him was lost in a gasp as he started stroking.
***
It was not too difficult, breaking his leader in. The ordeal of losing his mind and roaming the countryside for months with little sleep and virtually no food or drink plus the shock of his near fatal injuries had weakened Takasugi, making it only too easy for Bansai to subdue him.
He was taut, at first, in Bansai’s grip: he barely flinched or shuddered or trembled, and remained silent as best as he could, refusing to acknowledge Bansai and what the other was attempting to do. The musician solved that problem rather quickly. Pain was an excellent teacher, especially when it was coupled with invasive little gestures, with nips/licks/bites/kisses and a steady hand working him up, getting him off. He only moved again when he heard that broken note in Takasugi’s voice. It was not a kind gesture. It was him gripping Takasugi by the hair and pressing the side of his face against the floor.
As he stared down at the sight of Takasugi kneeling in front of him, he listened to how his leader attempted to catch his breath and felt the tremble of those muscles against his grip, he wondered, idly, what the bandaged man was thinking. Was he remembering their encounter in the ruins of his old school? Was he recalling what it was like to be helpless, to have one’s life between another’s hands? Bansai let his breath warm the back of Takasugi’s neck, hovering just over the man, feeling for the effect that his mere presence might have. The pervading silence was a bit disappointing.
“Being stubborn at this point is only going to hurt you.” He traced the line of Takasugi’s ass with one finger, right before slipping it inside. The gesture made the other quiver. “You should be more honest with yourself.”
Takasugi attempted to jerk free again. Bansai bore down on him even more, letting his weight hold the other under, keeping the man from getting his legs out properly from under him.
“Did he touch you like this?”
And the way Takasugi stilled beneath him was enough of an answer. He pressed another finger in, pushing too deep and too fast on purpose. His reward was hearing the first real sound Takasugi had made since they had started: a low one, a quiet whimper.
“Now I will make you forget him.”
When he came inside later, he was not gentle. In spite of that, however, when he turned Takasugi’s face towards his to kiss his lips as they climaxed, his master opened up to him completely, moaning into his mouth, showing him just how much the other needed him.
They went for two more rounds before tumbling down unto a proper futon, where they could fuck around properly. It was close to sunset by the time they finished.
Bansai had nearly succeeded in dozing off when he felt Takasugi move towards him, curling up against his body, wrapping his arms around his waist to pull himself closer. It was a remarkable gesture, affectionate and needy on almost equal counts. It was one that Takasugi had never made before.
He said nothing, did nothing but shut his eyes and sleep.
Title: Something’s Burning: I will be the water for your thirst.
Characters/Pairing(s): Kawakami Bansai and Takasugi Shinsuke
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A possible look into how Kawakami Bansai and Takasugi Shinsuke met, and why Bansai follows Takasugi in the first place. Part seven of eight.
Warnings? Graphic sex between two men.
Notes: This takes place before the start of Gintama, well after the end of the Joui resistance but years before the beginning of the series.
Something’s Burning: I will be the water for your thirst.
Bansai returned from his latest assignment at noon, right on the dot. He was lucky in the sense that he was coming back ahead of schedule; he knew that well. The mission could have easily taken another turn, forcing him to see everything through personally. Still, the musician could not shake the feeling that he had dawdled for too long and wasted too much time on inconsequential matters. The cause was, after all, nothing without the man behind it.
That feeling was confirmed the moment he stepped onto the Kihetai’s flagship. The others were quick to inform him that Takasugi-dono was in a foul mood. He had spent the twelve days of Kawakami-dono’s absence haunting the officer’s quarters of the boat, refusing any offers to assist him, snapping at anyone who dared to approach or had the misfortune of stumbling upon him. The attendants were at their wit’s end, and had taken to leaving food and drink for him at the doorways of the rooms he ended up drifting into. They feared their leader, but they were fiercely loyal to him. Pleasing him was what many of them seemed to exist for.
Bansai listened to their grievances politely, and without comment. He set off without asking them where Takasugi was: it was probably one of the rooms on the top floor of the east side of the boat, given the direction that the wind was blowing in. Among those rooms, he knew, for a fact, that Takasugi had a particular fondness for the one with murals of wild clouds, cherry blossom trees and sparrows. He expected to find the leader of the Kihetai sitting by the window, wrapped up in an elegant kimono and a great amount of impatience, armed with his favorite pipe, glaring off towards the ocean. He was right about the window and the kimono, and wrong on every other account. Takasugi was sleeping.
The musician lingered a moment in the doorway, taking in the sight of his master slumped against the sill, framed by sunlight and touched by a constant, pleasant wind. He slid the door shut without a sound and approached, fully intending on sneaking up on his master. He managed to get halfway across the room when Takasugi stirred. The younger man’s one good eye cracked open, to trace the rest of Bansai’s progress towards him. “You’re late,” he said, soft, imperious and accusatory. The sound made Bansai smile.
“So you were lonely without me, mm?”
“Don’t try my patience.”
Bansai chuckled in response. He reached out, brushing his leader’s bangs away out of the latter’s eyes. “I daresay that patience is a virtue that you ought to learn, Shinsuke,” he serenely replied, as he bent down, planting a kiss on the other’s forehead. “Good things always come to those who wait.”
Takasugi scoffed and looked away, unmoved by Bansai’s affections. “And you ought to know better than to scold me like I’m a child.”
Where were the imperious demands, the death threats and the drawn daggers? Months back, at the beginning, there would have been a fight. There might have been bruises, dislocations, maybe a little blood drawn. The Takasugi Shinsuke who was speaking to him now was worlds apart from the quiet and shattered thing Bansai had nearly killed in the process of bringing back from the edge.
The last three months had been a journey in white linen bandages, antiseptic and frozen silence, with a Takasugi who did not talk any more than necessary, did little beyond stare out and look at something beyond the skies whenever he wasn't giving out orders. Not another mention of That One nor the other two who had been his comrades, not once, not even another hint beyond the invisible weight pressed down against his neck and on his shoulders and over his lips.
There did not seem to be a trace of that at the moment, but there wasn’t any trace of the Takasugi who had sought him out, whom he had decided to follow and eventually kill. What would he find, if he looked hard enough? What would he see, if he listened for a new edge to that voice, or attempted to read a different sort of need - a distinct sort of desperation - on those fingertips? Those questions drove him forward, bringing his hand underneath Takasugi’s chin, tilting the man’s face towards his, forcing him to look. The tremor he felt beneath his leader’s skin was an affirmation.
“Can’t live without me now, mm?”
Takasugi’s response was swift, in the way one hand went up to strike him. Bansai effortlessly batted it away. He caught Takasugi’s wrist when the other tried again, and pinned it to the wall. The next one soon followed.
“Release me, Bansai.”
The smoldering look in Takasugi’s one good eye had been enough to send most people fleeing from the room. Bansai merely leaned forward, tracing the other’s earlobe with a single, slow lick.
“Now why would I do that?”
One leg kicked at his shin. He dragged one wrist down and forward, twisting Takasugi about in a single movement, holding him by his offending arm against his own body. He could feel the shake of his leader’s breath just over his face.
“How energetic,” he mildly remarked, staring down rather coolly at Takasugi’s face. The younger man smirked.
“Spite has always been my best motivator, has it not?”
Still so cold and haughty, even when he was in such a compromising position, even with the slightest trace of pain lining the edge of his voice. Bansai tightened the grip he had on Takasugi’s arm, feeling the man wince. He knew it had been the arm he had mangled up the most during their fight. He did not care. He reached down between Takasugi’s legs, palming the other’s cock through the fabric of his kimono.
“Hard already. I’m not surprised.”
Whatever snipe Takasugi had for him was lost in a gasp as he started stroking.
***
It was not too difficult, breaking his leader in. The ordeal of losing his mind and roaming the countryside for months with little sleep and virtually no food or drink plus the shock of his near fatal injuries had weakened Takasugi, making it only too easy for Bansai to subdue him.
He was taut, at first, in Bansai’s grip: he barely flinched or shuddered or trembled, and remained silent as best as he could, refusing to acknowledge Bansai and what the other was attempting to do. The musician solved that problem rather quickly. Pain was an excellent teacher, especially when it was coupled with invasive little gestures, with nips/licks/bites/kisses and a steady hand working him up, getting him off. He only moved again when he heard that broken note in Takasugi’s voice. It was not a kind gesture. It was him gripping Takasugi by the hair and pressing the side of his face against the floor.
As he stared down at the sight of Takasugi kneeling in front of him, he listened to how his leader attempted to catch his breath and felt the tremble of those muscles against his grip, he wondered, idly, what the bandaged man was thinking. Was he remembering their encounter in the ruins of his old school? Was he recalling what it was like to be helpless, to have one’s life between another’s hands? Bansai let his breath warm the back of Takasugi’s neck, hovering just over the man, feeling for the effect that his mere presence might have. The pervading silence was a bit disappointing.
“Being stubborn at this point is only going to hurt you.” He traced the line of Takasugi’s ass with one finger, right before slipping it inside. The gesture made the other quiver. “You should be more honest with yourself.”
Takasugi attempted to jerk free again. Bansai bore down on him even more, letting his weight hold the other under, keeping the man from getting his legs out properly from under him.
“Did he touch you like this?”
And the way Takasugi stilled beneath him was enough of an answer. He pressed another finger in, pushing too deep and too fast on purpose. His reward was hearing the first real sound Takasugi had made since they had started: a low one, a quiet whimper.
“Now I will make you forget him.”
When he came inside later, he was not gentle. In spite of that, however, when he turned Takasugi’s face towards his to kiss his lips as they climaxed, his master opened up to him completely, moaning into his mouth, showing him just how much the other needed him.
They went for two more rounds before tumbling down unto a proper futon, where they could fuck around properly. It was close to sunset by the time they finished.
Bansai had nearly succeeded in dozing off when he felt Takasugi move towards him, curling up against his body, wrapping his arms around his waist to pull himself closer. It was a remarkable gesture, affectionate and needy on almost equal counts. It was one that Takasugi had never made before.
He said nothing, did nothing but shut his eyes and sleep.