Work Text:
And if I save us, and I fall down
I will leave your words behind now
Don’t say a Word - Ellie Goulding
:::
Hijikata finds out that Yorozuya kisses like nothing his moniker is.
Sure, his touches are; crass and burns. He handles Hijikata like fire seeking air. Like demon in rampage. Ferocious and rough. Hijikata is fine with it, after all, that’s how two men, drunk and stoned, are supposed to be when they fuck. Hijikata had thought it’d be fast. Hijikata thought it’d be a quick chase for release and he’d be left with nothing but shame to remember.
What Hijikata had not expected, was for Yorozuya to kiss him like this .
He’s certain that Yorozuya’s kisses aren’t supposed to be sweet like this. The man does consume an unhealthy amount of sugar, but he’s drunk as much as Hijikata did, and he nabbed some kushiyaki from Hijikata’s plate. If he’s supposed to taste something from Yorozuya’s lips, he should be tasting booze and charcoal.
But he doesn’t. Or even if he does, they’re overwhelmed by this cloying sensation. It makes him feel ticklish, and it makes him sound nothing like himself as Yorozuya continues to ravage his mouth, in that eerily sugary way of his.
Yorozuya also kisses, he dares say, like one would utter their prayer. Clear and intentional, he knows what to do to make themself feel good. Surprisingly gentle, nearly uncharacteristic of a man that never missed the opportunity to raise his hackles.
And Hijikata hates that, because the way Yorozuya’s lips are caressing his, is making it as if he’s sincere. When he’s not. Supposed to be. There is no need for candour between them. He can tolerate Yorozuya’s unbridled ardour, but he cannot stand how all these kisses are so tender.
His touches are rough, surely leaving bruises, and so are his kisses. But at the back of his alcohol-coddled mind, Hijikata realises that while looking at those purple fingerprints will make him feel nothing, looking at the handiwork of his dry, chapped lips, will not.
They will make him feel ashamed, for even thinking that he’s been loved.
:::
Gintoki expected nothing to come out of this.
Hijikata left the next morning without saying anything, after all. They had been drunk and silly. They just happened to be at the right place at the same time. He doesn’t remember who suggested it, but he does remember that Hijikata’s admission has been so sweet. So decadent.
He let Gintoki touch him in the way he never expected the demon vice commander would anyone, and Gintoki vaguely remembers feeling like he’s standing on top of the world. Splendour and magnificent as Hijikata delivered him his submission.
Hijikata was beautiful in all his pale skin and taut muscle glory. And to that memory, Gintoki jerked himself off daily. He no longer think of soft body and femminine curves; he thinks of the tension of Hijikata’s jaw, the rough skin around his drying wounds.
He’s addicted, he knows, and he also knows it’s bad. Perhaps Hijikata did smoke too much that his nicotine isn’t enough to be contained in his bloodstream, they all oozed out from his skin, from his very being, and every time Gintoki kissed him that night, he’s smoked into his lungs. Polluting him, intoxicating.
Gintoki doesn’t have enough, he needs more. His hands twitch involuntarily whenever he hears someone mentioning Shinsengumi. And when nearly a week later, he sees Hijikata, half-drunk, pink-cheeked, nodding to whatever the stranger beside him said, he nearly bristled.
He doesn’t.
He strides in loudly, making his presence known, then claims his throne, seizes his prized possession. Hijikata scowls at him when Gintoki slung an arm around his shoulder, but he does lean on to him and that’s all Gintoki needs.
With every insult they trade, he reclaims Hijikata’s attention. Soon, the stranger is surely the last thing in Hijikata’s mind, Gintoki preens inside, basking in the vice-commander annoyed glare.
They leave together, Gintoki’s arm still slung casually around Hijikata’s shoulder. The black-haired man is a little uncoordinated in his step, leaning on Gintoki’s sturdy presence beside him as a guide. He could have taken Hijikata back to the barrack, but the raven’s weight is crushing the little remaining of his conscience.
Grabbing a bunch of dark-grey fabric, Gintoki breathes hotly onto his ear, “I wanna fuck you so bad.”
He catches a glimpse of startled, steel-blue eyes, before swiftly devouring his lips in tenacious, starven kisses.
He also catches the way Hijikata goes pliant, almost immediately, the moment their lips touched. He catches the soft moan, catches the wandering fingers on the back of hips, lace them with his, and thinks he’ll never let go.
He catches. Or perhaps, he’s the one being caught.
:::
The way Yorozuya fucks him is relentless. A stark contrast to his decadent kisses.
It should be enough to remind Hijikata that all of these are supposed to be meaningless. But then Yorozuya calls his name, making him lose his focus, and all he can think about is the way their bodies are entwined; right and seamless.
When he comes, Hijikata realises he’s been careless.
:::
The moon hangs, gracious and silver in the sky.
They had drunk but only a little. Gintoki doesn’t feel like being wasted that night, and Hijikata is quiet as he’d normally be if he wasn’t in Gintoki’s presence. They’re lucid enough to make a decision that won’t result with them entangled in each other’s arms, it’s just the matter of who’d make the call.
Then Hijikata stops walking, in the intersection that either leads to their places or cheap, love hotels they’ve been frequenting. He stops and says nothing, doesn’t look at Gintoki, just looking at the serenely glowing satellite.
Gintoki’s gaze is fixed on him, noting the slant of his jaw, seeking for the fading mark he left a couple of days ago. He’s all too aware of the distance between them, the length seems to stretch, along with the stillness.
Even if Hijikata chooses to go back home, he won’t mind. A little bit disappointed, sure, but it doesn’t matter. After all, it never meant to be anything more than quick, casual fuck. If he was disappointed, he’s simply disappointed for missing a good laid. Not because he’s missing Hijikata, snug and warm all around him.
Not because he’s missing Hijikata and the way he fits right in Gintoki’s arms. Like he belongs there. Like he is meant to be there, and having him in his bound makes Gintoki feel like he’s home he never knew he had.
“Yorozuya,” Hijikata starts, slow and unsure, and Gintoki catches every tremble of his every vowels, “the moon is,”
Gintoki reaches, distance between them breached. He’s proud of how steady he was when he said, “my place, tonight,” but no so much of how shaky his fingers are later, when he’s undressing Hijikata, on top of his own futon, under the Yorozuya’s roof.
If the other man notices him fumbling, a stark comparison to his usual gait, he doesn’t say anything.
:::
Shinsengumi is gone, so is his pride.
There are nights spent, thinking that he should end his life, for it no longer has a purpose. What he’s sworn to protect is no more. Now, he’s just an empty carcass of a man.
He knows Bakufu is falling but it’s no longer his battle to fight. He’s stripped from everything that makes him himself, safe for his sword. Even then, it barely holds any meaning. Ever since Kondo picked him up, Hijikata had sworn that every swing of his blade is meant to protect, not to hurt. Now that the man who gave new meaning to his strife is gone, the katana is nothing more than a dangerous scrap of iron.
As much as the night he spent thinking of giving up, he finds himself thinking about a flash of silver. Dazzling like sword brandished under the moonlight. He thinks of Yorozuya, the Shiroyasha , and wonders; what would the man do if he was in position? What would Gintoki do as not to lose his sight?
He never asked. He could have did, but they were never anything; he was never anything that would warrant himself the privilege to ask. For everything he knew about Gintoki, he knew very little if not nothing about the man.
They said ‘ wound speaks of history’ , but Gintoki only let him see them when they’re already drying scars and bruised skin. He wasn’t there to see him as he bled, and sometimes, as he was held all too delicately by Gintoki’s battered arms, he thought of how unfair it was that Gintoki had been there to see how most of his deepest scars were carved.
It had been foolish of him, he blamed it on the alcohol and the way Gintoki’s kisses are tearing his wall thin, but he wished that he could see what the man had seen, hear what the man had heard, and feel what the mad had felt. Wished he could, be one and the same, so he’d know him more than anyone else. So he could understand him the way nobody would, in a way that he’s the only one allowed to, just like he’s-
But is he ?
Is he the only one Gintoki allowed to warm his bed? Is he the only one Gintoki caressed, kissed like he’s in prayer, when he was never anything that would warrant Yorozuya’s loyalty and devotion?
Hijikata knew, that despite the careless and rowdy way Yorozuya presented himself most of the time, he still had a long list of women who’s more than willing to sleep with him. He knew a woman who shamelessly proclaimed his love and lust for him, knew a woman who steadily waited for his return, knew a woman who’d fight for him.
He also knew Yorozuya cares about them, and with the callously nonchalant way he had taken Hijikata to bed, he doesn’t think Yorozuya is against the idea of casual sex. The silverlett does strike him as a faithful man, but until he made his oath, he’s definitely not someone practising chastity. The many nights they spent together prove that. So, it is not entirely impossible that he had slept with someone other than Hijikata.
The idea always pinches him, filling his threadbare heart with an emotion he refused to identify. Just like he refused to admit that the only reason he wished to see, to hear, and feel what Gintoki did, is to know how that man keeps his soul, unyielding and brilliant.
Shinsengumi is gone, yet time goes on. Thinking about that man, who stubbornly refused to go down, seems to be the only thing that keeps him hanging on.
:::
“If I opened this door, I can never return to this place anymore.”
It feels like yesterday that Hijikata gave Gintoki his sweet, decadent submission. In fact, it didn’t happen that long ago, some times after he tore down the sky of Yoshiwara, several days after his wound from battle for Kabukicho healed.
Back then, Hijikata had been vulnerable, too, but under his own volition, and Gintoki would rather see him like that; indecent and shameful, than the ghost of his former self he is now.
The rain beats down on them, cold and unfeeling. Gintoki’s blood no longer roar under his skin, scorching hotly in his veins. The need for carnage, to maim whoever did this to Hijikata, has retreated, strategically. The warrior in him now seeks to accomplish another mission, Hijikata’s solace his final destination.
Gintoki still remembers how surprised he was at the vice-commander’s admission. It was painless, straightforward, and easy. Somewhat rather uncharacteristic for a tactician like him. He expected Hijikata to resist harder. He expected the fight would be longer. Yet, he got nothing of the sort. Yes, the raven did kick and punch him, but there was no real heat behind it. He let Gintoki in and Gintoki never looked back ever since.
He kissed him, in a tender way his lips could never utter during the day. He held him, as tight as his hold on Hijikata’s cravat when they brawled. He touched him, as rough as the turbulent maelstrom inside of him, as violent as the raging desire clamouring under his skin.
Gintoki refused to scale back the map to find out exactly where did he went off-course, it doesn’t matter after all in the grand scheme of things. At least now he can confidently admit to himself that he knows the name to this feeling that seizes him brutally whenever Hijikata is concerned. He’s changed, he realised. He’s grown, and wonders if his teacher would be proud of him.
Gintoki doesn’t let people know how much he’s loved and lost in return. As much as he has opened up to the family he found here in Kabukicho, there’s still a part of him that he refused people to see. That part is safe, locked behind barbed wires. So nobody can touch it, and nobody would be hurt, for guilt is toxic, consuming.
It’s not that he doesn’t trust them, but he’d rather deal with it alone. Perhaps it’s his pride speaking, not wanting them to see him when his soul is less than resilient and radiant. Or, perhaps, it’s his cowardice speaking, not wanting to see people walking away from him the moment they realised they cannot endure him and the weight of his sin.
Shoyo-sensei did tell him once that it’d be the end of him, no good comes from fighting your battle alone, he said. And even after everything he went through together with his found family, even after every blood they shed for each other, there’s still a part of him that he refused to surrender.
But Hijikata had given him; his submission, in that genuine and nearly heroic way of his.
Hijikata had said nothing, he’s never said anything, just letting Gintoki hold him through the night, entrusting himself to Gintoki’s will. Believing, that wherever and whenever Gintoki takes him, it will lead to their sanctuary.
He never asked about the scar. He never questioned why. He never, and there were nights when Gintoki anguished over his silence, yearned almost desperately for him to ask, to speak, to say something, anything .
But he never did. And Gintoki can never hate him for that.
All he could hate was himself. His own silence. His own cowardice. If he was a little bit braver, if he had a little more courage, he could have; said something, tell him anything, and Hijikata wouldn't push him away. For he knew Hijikata, for he and Hijikata are so similar in that ironically different way of theirs. Most of the time, he sees himself in Hijikata and Hijikata in him. Right at this very moment, standing in front of Shinsengumi’s sealed gate, Hijikata is him and he was Hijikata. Back then, Gintoki had no one, but Hijikata has someone, not just anyone, but him.
If Hijikata’s submission means he’s chosen him, then Gintoki will reward him. Gintoki won’t push him away. Gintoki won’t leave him alone, he’d hold Hijikata the way he’s always done. If Hijikata’s weight were to drag him under, he’d fall with him.
After all, he has fallen for him, and more than because he owes Hijikata his honesty, Gintoki simply wants him to know.
He pulls those barbed wires, tearing them apart. It hurts. It’s scary. He bleeds but he knows that with every blood he spills, he heals.
“I was the same, a long time ago, something similar happened to me.”
And he’s chosen him, Hijikata, to bear his sin.
:::
Shinsengumi leaves the next morning. Gintoki falls asleep to strangely-welcomed sourness of mayonnaise in his mouth, and the memory of the best damn smile he's ever seen, from the most beautiful person he’s ever known.
:::
Sometimes, Hijikata catches Kondo looking fondly at their badly burned meal.
More often than not, he’s subjected to Okita’s complaint about having nobody who can keep up with him.
So many times, he finds himself, instead of sleeping, staring at the moon, saying, “the moon is beautiful tonight.”
Practising.
:::
Gintoki catches. Everything. But himself, he must let go.
:::
For how long two years felt without him, it’s ironically hilarious how having Yorozuya back makes it as if time never passed at all.
Surely, it cannot be that long, because he barely changed. They barely did. Yorozuya’s touches are still crass, they burn, and Hijikata finds that he still kisses him like nothing his moniker. Hijikata too, finds himself thinking that looking at the imprint of Yorozuya’s lips on his skin will only fill with him longing.
It’s as if the only thing that changed is the length of his hair, the deepening lines on his face. He’s still the same man inside out. Still the steady anchor to Hijikata’s swaying boat. Still the captain who steer his ship through the stormy seas.
Sakata Gintoki is still the same man whose tale he’d tell, whose soul burns like thousand-years apart star. He had been far but his spirit lingered in every heart he touched. Every single candles he torched ablaze, ignited. Believing one day, he’d come home, and when he did, they could illuminate his path, the very same way he had done for them.
Hijikata had waited for him, it’s the least he could do. Yorozuya had protected Edo to give Shinsengumi a place to return to, it’s only fair that Hijikata did the same. He watched over Shimura and Kagura, frequently visited Otose. He’d entertain Otae by ordering Dom Perry whenever Kondo crossed over the line.
He never shy away from talking about Gintoki. Unfortunately, not everyone’s the same. Shinpachi choose not to unless he had to, Kagura’s more than willing, but she always ended up clamming up, rubbing hotly on her teary eyes and insisted she’s not crying. Hijikata himself would rather not talk about him with Okita who’d only tease him, or Kondo whose look of sympathy made him uneasy. With Yamazaki, it’s strictly work when it came to Yorozuya.
In the end, Otose had been the only person he can comfortably talk to about Yorozuya. In the hindsight, it’s not surprising that Otose would be the one to point out,
“He cares about you.”
Hijikata chuckled, lips hovering over the rim of his glass, “he cares about everyone.”
Otose waited until he finished sipping his drink before she continued, “he does, but it’s different with you. Gintoki will fight for them, but he won’t fight their battle. He didn’t fight for you and neither did he fight your battle.”
“Sounds like he cares about everyone else but me,” he countered.
But Otose, ever so strong, ever so kind. The closest woman Gintoki had for a mother. She’s a warrior on her own, she’s ready to retaliate. “Because to him, you’re not everyone else.”
Hijikata remembers he had not said anything for the remaining of that night. Otose did not bother him, quietly filling his ochoko until he finished an entire bottle for himself.
Sometimes, Hijikata found himself wandering if what Otose insinuated was true. Back then, he had no way of finding out, Yorozuya was out somewhere, away from Edo. Now, though, Yorozuya is here, again, back with Hijikata’s acquiescence in his arms. Hijikata can get his answer, all he needs to do is breaking his long, enduring silence. All he’s gotta to do is say. Something. Anything .
And surely, surely, even if it feels like nothing barely changed, they have passed through the passage of time, never to return to where they started. Hijikata had waited for him to find his way back home, through the countlessly falling rain, through the routinely changing season. He knows he’s changed and the gentleness of Gintoki’s kisses now is meant to make amend, to make the most of his mistakes instead of his losses.
Sakata Gintoki too, has changed. It’s only fair for Hijikata to reward him.
So he breaks through his long, unyielding silence. He knows that tonight, the sky is shrouded in darkness. Yet, it doesn’t stop him from saying; these words he had practiced, this phrase he can now easily utter, like a well-loved song,
“The moon is beautiful, isn't it?”
Hijikata finds.
:::
Gintoki catches the sure way he uttered those words. The certainty in his voice, as final as the rising and setting of the sun.
He catches every emotion, adorning each and every of his vowels. He catches a glimpse of the sky, peeking dark and cloudy between the curtains.
Yet, Hijikata repeats again, no hesitation, daringly brimming with affection, "the moon is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"
Then Gintoki kisses him, presses a tender one onto his lids, feeling his own growing hot in the process. "The moon is," he doesn't miss the way his words are caught in his throat, slipping as his voice becomes wet, "it is,"
In the wake of his torn down silence, Hijikata surges. For the first time since they started this, he takes Gintoki's face into his hands. As tender as Gintoki's kisses are, as sweetly as his decadent surrender is, he says, "it is not the most beautiful tonight?"
Gintoki catches him, lets Hijikata crash onto him, washing him off shore. "It is," he also lets his tears fall, knowing that Hijikata will catch them all, unassuming and accepting, just like how he had welcomed him. Always in that steadfast silence that spoke of his sincere devotion.
Gintoki remembers how he had expected nothing to come out of this. Yet, Hijikata had surprised him with his submission. And now, Hijikata; the only one Gintoki longed to see by the end of his journey, has done it again. He really hates losing, it seems.
"I do," the silverlett said. Staring into Hijikata's steel-blue eyes, he says,"the moon is the most beautiful tonight."
Gintoki catches, and swears that this time, he will never let go.