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Takasugi punches him in the face immediately beforehand. Gintoki bites his tongue in the process and ends up spitting blood right back in Takasugi's face, which results in Takasugi shoving him, and he trips, and Takasugi kneels over him to keep punching him, and at some point Gintoki ends up with both hands fisted in the front of Takasugi's coat and their mouths crushed together so hard he starts bleeding again, and everything is downhill from there.
It's rough and angry, and less about them than it is about the act itself. It's not that either of them is particularly interested in getting off, but they're angry and tired and this is a change from the fist fights they're used to, so neither of them really tries to stop it.
Afterwards, Takasugi spits on the ground like there's something dirty in his mouth and then stalks out of the tent, tying his pants back above his hips as he leaves. Gintoki stays there for a while. Eventually he rolls onto his back and stares at the gray roof over his head until he hears someone pass by outside, and then he finally pulls his pants back on and finds some motivation to get some sleep.
This thing with Sakamoto, where they sit on the roof and pretend they're somewhere else, starts long before Sakamoto leaves, but this conversation in particular is only a couple weeks before he starts talking about space.
New recruits are a luxury that Gintoki has forgotten, but there's a new guy with parents who own a brewery and are supporters of the cause, and he showed up about three days ago with a wagon full of sake, and the troops have spent the last three days getting drunk off their asses every night -- which is a pretty accurate description of Sakamoto when he climbs onto the roof.
He giggles as he stumbles and nearly loses his footing, eventually just dropping onto his ass next to Gintoki. "You're no fun, up here by yourself being mopey," he whines.
"I fucked Takasugi," Gintoki says.
"Oh." Sakamoto blinks, pulls his stupid helmet off his head and scratches at dirty, matted hair. "Really?"
"Well." Gintoki crosses his ankle over his knee. "He fucked me."
Sakamoto laughs. "Didn't take you for that end," he says. "Why'd you do it?"
"Fucking question of the century," Gintoki mutters. He's not... attracted to Takasugi. He hates Takasugi. Takasugi makes him want to rip out his hair and scream. He knows what it's like to be attracted to someone, what it's like to want someone so bad and not know how to tell them and to know that even if you did tell them, they would just tell you, in the quietest of voices, that a war isn't time for this, never mind how you hiss at them that this may be the only time you have left. That's... that's one thing. This thing with Takasugi is something else.
"Well," Sakamoto says, and leans back on his elbows. "Was he any good?"
Gintoki makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. "All right. Not the worst."
"Oh, I didn't think he was that bad," Sakamoto says, and Gintoki looks at him sharply, but those blue eyes are fixed on the sky, and his pupils reflect starlight, and Gintoki wonders if he kissed him if it would feel more like kissing Takasugi or kissing Zura, but one of those things is something he has no real interest in thinking about ever again, and the other is something he keeps locked up safe where it can't be touched, so he doesn't do anything about it.
Two weeks later, Sakamoto is gone, and Gintoki finds himself watching Takasugi watch the skies. Zura is somewhere else -- angry, but at himself, not at Sakamoto. He blames himself for not giving him a stronger foundation here, a deeper set of roots. Gintoki still doesn't know how to talk to him when he's like this, so he hangs back and gives him some space.
"Stop staring at me," Takasugi says, and his voice is barely more than a low rumble. There's no real bite in it, which is a rare treat these days -- he's angry more often than not, recently. Gintoki can see all the ways to provoke a fight laid out in front of him like a map of the battlefield. Zura has always been their strategist, but when it comes to pissing Takasugi off, Gintoki always has a plan.
But he doesn't. It's been weeks, but he still looks at Takasugi and wants to know why he let him fuck him, and the fact that it was a fight that led to it in the first place makes him wary.
"I'm not looking at you," he says, and his voice is flat. "Don't you have work to do?"
"Don't you?" Takasugi shoots back, but there's no venom in it. He's still watching the sky.
Were you in love with him? Gintoki doesn't answer. But if you were, why didn't we notice? And why did you fuck me?
The only people Gintoki has ever had sex with are sex workers and girls who think he's hot when he's splattered with blood. And Takasugi. He's not even eighteen yet.
Takasugi takes his silence for an answer, apparently, or else he just doesn't care. "You knew he was leaving."
Gintoki grunts, surprise catching him off guard for a moment. "We all did."
"But he told you," Takasugi accuses. "I heard him. During your stupid little hangouts on the roof that you think no one knows about."
Gintoki's breath catches with panic for a second, and he doesn't know why -- who cares if Takasugi heard them? Why does he care if he heard anything else? Fuck Takasugi, fuck his entitlement.
Gintoki gets angry. "Fuck you, why do you care?"
"Because he was annoying as all hell, but he got his fucking job done!" Takasugi snaps. He turns away -- the sun is going down and half his face is in shadow. "Unlike other people."
"The fuck does that mean?" Gintoki snarls. "Am I not doing enough for you, parading around like some kind of mascot, letting you and Zura use me like some kind of shining beacon of hope when we're fucking losing?"
"We're not losing!" Takasugi roars, and he turns on Gintoki with eyes full of fury and a face twisted with disgust.
Gintoki laughs. "Sure. Of course. What am I talking about?" He turns and starts walking away. Takasugi doesn't try to stop him. Gintoki fucking hates him.
It's cold, and there's not enough food. Gintoki's stomach won't stop rumbling, and there's snow on top of his tent, forcing it to dip dangerously in places, and he regrets rushing to put it up. They don't even have blankets anymore -- they had to burn them when they ran out of firewood a few days back. There are six other people in his tent, but it's still not warm enough. Zura is an arm's length away but Gintoki can't bring himself to reach out for him.
The air smells like burnt flesh. They lost another battle, had to retreat and found themselves pitching their tents in the woods. They'll probably start a forest fire with the untended bonfire of dead troops, but Gintoki doubts anyone cares.
Takasugi stumbles in and drops face first into the space on the other side of Zura, who rolls back with a grunt of distaste and shoves an elbow into Gintoki's stomach and some hair into Gintoki's mouth.
"Watch it!" he hisses, but Zura just mumbles something that's definitely not an apology. Takasugi grumbles something into the dirt.
"What?" Zura whispers, a little more clearly than his previous vague attempt at speaking.
Takasugi rolls onto his side, glares at them through the darkness -- or maybe just at Zura, but it's hard to tell. "I said, what the fuck are you shaking so bad for?"
"I am not!" Zura says, a bit too loud, and someone hushes him.
"Yes, you are," Gintoki grumbles at him. He slides an arm around him and pulls him close, rearranges himself into a more comfortable position. "If you were cold, all you had to do was say something." He very carefully tries to subdue his own shivering.
"I'm not cold," Zura mumbles, but he doesn't protest other than that. He reaches out a hand vaguely through the dark, and, with a sigh, Takasugi squirms his way closer to them. He drops an arm over Zura, and his fingers fall on Gintoki's hip. Their eyes meet around their shared burden, and it feels like they should be having a moment, so Gintoki looks away.
"It's not the same," Zura says after a moment.
"Yeah, we used to have blankets," Takasugi huffs.
"That's not what I meant," Zura says.
With Sakamoto, they only ever needed one blanket. Stick him in the middle and throw a blanket over the four of them and they'd have more heat than even the guards on duty around the fire. He was like a furnace, but now it's just the three of them, and that's never been warm enough, even back when they had walls and a roof and actual bedrolls, instead of blankets and the ground, and now they don't even have blankets.
Takasugi grunts. "Get used to it," he says, and closes his eyes.
Zura sighs, and in the dark Gintoki can see him raise one hand to run fingers gently through Takasugi's dirty hair. "You can just say that you cared about him, you know," Zura murmurs.
Takasugi keeps pretending to sleep.
Gintoki tucks his face into the back of Zura's neck, where his hair falls loose, and closes his eyes as well. Takasugi's right -- they should just get used to it. But Zura's right, too, and Gintoki's always known who he would pick if he had to choose between them, but he never had a reason to feel guilty about leaving Takasugi behind until now.
But after that they don't talk about it -- they don't talk about Sakamoto, they don't talk about what happened between them, they don't talk about sensei. They lose two more battles in the next month, and the Bakufu are closing in tight, preparing for some final strike.
Zura gathers them in one of the few tattered tents they have left each morning to talk strategy, which means he and Takasugi argue and Gintoki does his best not to yell at them both that they've already lost.
There's a kid, maybe 13, who lost a leg in the last battle. He's delirious, blurry with fever, and when they come across a merchant lost on his way to the city, Gintoki gives him directions in exchange for letting Gintoki stick the kid in the back of the guy's cart.
"You're soft," Takasugi snorts.
"I'm tired," Gintoki tells him, and pushes past him roughly.
The nights are still cold. They have no food. They're losing battles. People are dying quicker than ever, and it's wearing on Zura more than he'll admit -- Gintoki can see it. They get ambushed by the Bakufu and fourteen people die. Or at least, fourteen that they can find bodies for; there are another thirty-something missing, maybe taken prisoner, maybe dead. Afterwards, when the body counts have been taken and wounds are getting patched up, he finds Zura behind a supply tent, hunched over on his knees and heaving into the snow.
He's not real gentle about pulling his hair back out of his face, but Zura's not exactly paying attention. When he's done, he falls back onto his ass and sobs, and Gintoki holds him because he doesn't know what else to do.
"We can't keep doing this," he whispers into Zura's ear.
"We have to," Zura rasps. "We can't stop. We've come so far. Sensei--"
"He's dead, Zura."
"It's not Zura, it's Katsura," he whispers, and his fingers clench into Gintoki's sleeve.
Gintoki has snow in his boots. "We can't keep this up."
"We have to." Zura pushes him away, stumbles to his feet. "I'm not stopping till I tear the shogun down myself."
"You sound like Takasugi," Gintoki says. He forces himself to laugh.
Zura doesn't answer. Gintoki punches a tree.
Takasugi screams as he fights. Gintoki drives his katana through a ribcage and tosses the body aside, falls to his knees beside him when he collapses.
He tries to pull Takasugi's hand away from his face but he's too busy yelling, too busy holding back blood. Gintoki grabs a handful of his coat and screams in his face, "Get your fucking hand out of the way!"
He finally manages to pull it away and underneath is a bloody mess. Gintoki swears -- leaving is not an option. Zura is still out here, still fighting, and he needs someone to watch his back, but leaving Takasugi like this is asking for death.
"I can fight," Takasugi hisses.
"You wanna die?" Gintoki asks, choking a laugh.
"I don't fucking care anymore," Takasugi snarls. "I can fight!" He wraps his fingers around his katana, closes his mess of an eye, and stumbles to his feet before Gintoki can stop him. Behind him, Zura shouts for help, and Gintoki growls to himself, leaps to his feet, and jumps back into the fray.
Later, Takasugi sweats through an infection -- his eye is gone and he's delirious with the fever. He looks Gintoki dead in the eyes and says, "You're a murderer."
"Duh," is all Gintoki can think to say back.
He and Zura can't eat, even though they try. Zura leans into him and shakes but doesn't cry, and finally mumbles, "We're losing."
"Yeah," Gintoki says.
"I need you, Gintoki," Zura whispers. "I can't do this alone. If Takasugi..."
"He won't," Gintoki says.
Zura sets his bowl on the ground and hunches over his knees and shakes even harder.
Close to midnight, Gintoki ducks into Takasugi's tent again to find him still sweating and raving. He's in the middle of cursing out a guy twice their age so bad he looks like he wants to cry, but when he catches sight of Gintoki he smiles and switches targets. "Well, if it isn't the demon himself!"
"Damn, you're not dead yet," Gintoki deadpans. He looks over at the makeshift nurse. "Get out before he decides to give you shit again."
The man just nods and rushes out.
"Fucking baby," Takasugi laughs. He slaps a hand to his eye as his face twists in pain, and then the moment passes. "Both of you. Fucking demon murderer, but you're still afraid of everything."
"Not afraid of you," Gintoki says. "You're all bark and no bite, you big baby."
"Oh, I'm the baby!" Takasugi howls this time, and Gintoki wonders if he picked that one up from Sakamoto. "That's funny, since I sure as hell wasn't the one crying when I fucked you."
"Fuck you, man, I didn't cry." It shouldn't be so easy to talk about. Gintoki's heart pounds but the words come anyway.
Takasugi seems to only catch the first couple words, though. "You couldn't fuck me in your dreams," he cackles.
"I could fuck you right now," Gintoki says, because he's a fucking idiot.
"I dare you," Takasugi grins.
Gintoki walks out.
Takasugi's fever breaks overnight. They're on the move by dawn, and Takasugi stumbles through the snow with Zura's support at the head of them all. Gintoki stays the fuck away.
Takasugi finds him that night when he's putting a fire together. He's quiet for a moment.
"You look fucked up," Gintoki tells him.
"Funny, considering your hair," Takasugi snaps.
"Haha, never heard that one before," Gintoki grumbles.
"I meant what I said," Takasugi says.
Gintoki pauses in his tending of the fire, looks up into Takasugi's face. "I don't want to fuck you."
That same face twists with something halfway between laughter and disgust. "I meant the other part. About you being a murderer."
Gintoki snorts. "You act like I don't know."
"Fuck you!" Takasugi announces, and turns away, only to turn back a moment later and punch Gintoki directly in the face. It's pure luck that Gintoki doesn't land in the fire, but then they're rolling on the ground and probably Gintoki shouldn't let him do this, given his injuries, but he doesn't fucking care anymore.
Gintoki ends up on top this time and catches Takasugi's wrist before he can punch him again. Their hips are pressed together and Gintoki mutters, "Tent," and Takasugi snarls but follows.
Gintoki fucks him this time, but it's no better than the first time, and all he can hear is Takasugi growling like an animal and Sakamoto laughing, "So how was he?" and he doesn't feel any better, after.
Three days later he watches the oldest man in their company die on the battlefield, obliterated by some Amanto weapon, and he decides he's not doing it anymore.
"I'm tired," Zura mumbles.
"Me too," Gintoki says.
Zura rests his hand on Gintoki's wrist. They're sitting as close together as they can, huddled in the small shelter they can get from an abandoned shrine. The wind is howling, the snow is coming down in piles. They don't know where the rest of their company is.
Slowly, Zura slips his fingers between Gintoki's. "We couldn't have gotten this far without you," he says.
Gintoki doesn't answer.
Zura drops his head into his shoulder, huffs out warm breath against Gintoki's neck. "I almost cut my stomach the other night," he confesses.
Gintoki's fingers tighten around Zura's.
"Obviously I didn't," he mumbles. "I could hear your words. If you have time to dream of a beautiful death... That wouldn't even have been beautiful. But I..." He shifts against Gintoki's side. "I'm weak," he whispers.
No, you're not, Gintoki thinks. You're the only one of us who's still you. Even Sakamoto had to run from it.
"I'm sorry," Zura murmurs, and Gintoki doesn't even have time to ask why, because Zura turns his head and brings their mouths together. It's familiar in the same way that writing a word you've only just learned to spell is, but it's also like realizing you've been writing one of the kanji in your name out of order for the last ten years, and then when you finally get it all straightened out, even though you know it's right, something still feels off.
It's not like kissing Takasugi. Gintoki wonders if maybe he should have kissed Sakamoto, so he could figure out whether the world tips more towards the hard mash of face on face, teeth knocking and growls in the back of their throats, or the gentle pressure that he feels now. It's slow, but it's over fast, and Zura pulls back with a sigh.
"I--" he starts.
"Shut the fuck up," Gintoki says.
They don't have a tent, or even a door to lock. There's a back room inside the shrine, and they're probably offending close to fifty different gods, but Gintoki just really doesn't give a shit any more. Zura shakes through the whole thing, chokes, "I've never," so Gintoki lets him lead. It's slower than Takasugi, and Zura leans over him, hair falling onto his chest, and whispers, "I need you."
"Yeah, babe, you too," Gintoki says, wraps his legs around Zura's hips to pull him closer.
"No, I..." Zura's fingers circle around his wrists. "We'll lose without you."
"We'll lose no matter what," Gintoki says.
"Then I'll lose," Zura says. "Like Takasugi. When Sakamoto..." He trails off.
Gintoki laughs. "The fuck are you talking about? He's always been like this."
"Idiot," Zura whispers. "Idiot." But he pushes forward, and the conversation stops mattering.
The thing is, Zura is right, Gintoki just hasn't been paying attention. During battle, Takasugi throws back his head and laughs, like Sakamoto but more manic. He closes his one good eye and just breathes, and Gintoki freezes.
The thing is, fighting isn't just fighting anymore. They're not fighting to win anymore, they're fighting to survive, and they're losing. Their numbers are smaller every day, between the battles and the infection and the deserters. Gintoki himself makes deserters of four more of the injured in the span of two weeks, setting them up with one of the few remaining blankets and whatever rations he can scrape together on short notice.
The thing is, they're not even fighting the Bakufu or the Amanto anymore. They're fighting themselves, and Takasugi has already lost, and when he throws back his head and howls with the laughter, Gintoki's body runs cold, because his blood is humming with the same mania that's in Takasugi's good eye, because off the battlefield he helps the wounded disappear because he's afraid to let them turn into what he's turning into.
And Zura can feel it, too, humming just beneath the surface. Maybe Sakamoto was the smartest one of them all the whole time, and they never realized. Maybe they thought he left because he was too stupid, but maybe he just saw what they were becoming, and he knew he didn't want any part of that.
The thing is, Gintoki wishes he'd told the idiot goodbye, he wishes he had kissed him if for no other reason than just to know what it would feel like. The thing is, he can't tell Zura goodbye, because when he opens his mouth to say it, when Zura lies exhausted on top of him, the idiot whispers, "I love you." The thing is, when it comes time, he doesn't say a fucking word to Takasugi, and he doesn't look back.