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rainsometimesTitle: Human Beings Are Simple Creatures
Chapters: 3/5
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Around 4000 in this installment
Characters/Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura; with some GinTakaZura vibes and some Katsura->Ikumatsu, but only Gin and Zura are featured in the fic (of those four characters)
Spoilers/Setting: See more in the post for Chapter 1. This chapter spoils the Kintama arc.
Summary: See Chapter 1.
Continued from Chapter 2
Two days after the defeat of Kintoki Sakata, Katsura found Odd Jobs in a cluttered side-street, putting up posters for some massage parlour or other while arguing and throwing glue on each other. He put his arms into his sleeves and waited in the shadows for a few minutes, until Leader announced that they’d run out of posters so that meant they were over and done with, right?
“We only ran out of them because you two kept glueing them in weird places where no-one’s ever going to look!” muttered Shinpachi, but not too fervently. He seemed ready to go home, too.
“At least I didn’t stop to prioritise an Otsu poster above the client’s!” retorted Kagura.
“You just don’t understand advertising, Pachi-Boy,” said Gintoki, “you can’t be too modest in this business…”
Katsura cleared his throat, and when nobody reacted, he stepped up and took the dripping brush of glue away from Gintoki. “You seem to be finished with work for today,” he said.
“What are you doing here, Zura?” asked Leader, jumping down from the low roof where she’d glued the last poster.
“Just passing through,” said Katsura, putting the brush in the glue bucket that Shinpachi was holding. “Gintoki. Can I talk to you?”
Gintoki gave him a flat look, then turned his head, yawned and stretched, scratching his stomach. “I’m going to the nearest pachinko hall,” he announced.
“Oh no, you’re not!” exclaimed Shinpachi.
“Give us our pay first!” roared Leader.
They ganged up on him and Katsura did his part by pushing Gintoki from behind, blocking his escape. “Fine, fine, FINE!” he grumbled, giving Shinpachi and Kagura a small wad of bills each, then put the remainder in his pocket, looking really put out.
“That had better go to the rent,” said Shinpachi, eyes narrowed. “Don’t let him into the pachinko place, Katsura-san.”
“Yeah, he’ll need that to buy food for Sadaharu!” agreed Leader. Then the two of them were off, apparently content to leaving their leader in Katsura’s care.
“Damn brats,” muttered Gintoki, but didn’t look too upset.
“They seem to be doing fine,” said Katsura. It was encouraging that Shinpachi and Leader weren’t letting Gintoki get away with doing as he pleased out of guilt: if they had, that would surely just have bothered Gintoki that much more.
“Now you’ve ruined the rest of my plans for the evening,” said Gintoki. “You’d better make up for it, Zura. Take responsibility by buying me a drink at least, bastard.”
“Tch, I guess I can let you have one drink,” said Katsura. “If you let me pick out the bar. And it’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
“Gintoki,” Katsura started, then paused, unsure of how to begin. “I… Are you doing all right?”
“Huh? Me? Sure, I’m fine.” Gintoki picked his nose, looking forward. “Why wouldn’t I be fine? Just because I came back to my home district to find everyone had forgotten me and replaced me with a straight-haired usurper who took over my whole past and my role as main character and then tried to start a whole new manga on top of it? Just because even people who’ve known me since before I grew hair down there were taken in by him and forgot I ever existed? Because the only ones who remembered me were my dog and my robot friend? No, it’s fine, fine.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You can buy me two drinks to apologise. Hold on, make it three.”
Katsura was actually heartened to see Gintoki being pettily bitter. It meant he felt better than if he were just serenely refusing to blame anyone because he didn’t value himself. However…
“You can have one (1) drink,” he said primly. “I’m not made out of money, and your liver isn’t made out of iron.”
“Cheapskate bastard.” Pause. “I can’t believe you just pronounced that parenthesis.”
Katsura waved this aside. “And I have no intention of apologising,” he added.
“No?” Gintoki glanced at him, a hint of surprise in his tone.
What good would apologising do, anyway? Gintoki had surely had enough of it by now. Katsura crossed his arms over his chest. “Obviously that man’s hypnotic powers were ridiculously strong, in effect and in range both. He was even able to change past volumes of the manga! If anyone should apologise it ought to be Gengai-dono, for building such abilities into a robot in the first place. Can you imagine if the government were to get ahold of something like that? Why, it’s equivalent to the Renho’s weapons!”
Gintoki gave him a half-lidded look. “Then what did you want to talk about that couldn’t wait?”
Katsura exhaled. “I don’t want to apologise, but… I want to… explain.” He lowered his voice. “Gintoki, I’m feeling confused.”
“Nothing new in that. You’re always confused, Zura.”
“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.” He did his best to collect his thoughts. “It’s already getting hazy in my mind, and it’s confusing trying to remember remembering fake memories… That is to say…” He took a deep breath. “The man I remembered, the boy I remembered when I was under that hypnotic influence… up until a few weeks ago, he acted just like you, he spoke just like you, he did all the things I remember you doing… only he had straight blond hair and blue eyes. In everything else, he… he was you, effectively.” They rounded a corner and left Kabuki proper, as the bar Katsura had in mind was a few blocks further away. “Up until the point where he started to change, becoming more upstanding and productive, a more conscientious person. Foolishly, I didn’t realise this indicated something was wrong. I thought you – him – had just received an uncommon burst of energy and confidence in yourself. I was happy for you, but I was also fairly busy with Jôi activities and working so I could eat.”
Gintoki sighed, arm resting in his yukata. “I know all that already, Zura. Tama explained it at the time.”
“She is very perceptive. But she could only observe it from the outside, not…” He rubbed his forehead. Maybe he shouldn’t bring up the other part right now, out in the open like this. “Oh, and another thing,” he said instead, disapproval sneaking into his voice. “I heard you’ve been mixing up with the police again. A conflict between the Shinsengumi and that new Mimawarigumi lot.”
“Henhhh? I guess,” said Gintoki in an obnoxious tone, giving him a look as if Katsura was being impossible. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“The Shinsengumi didn’t have any problems remembering you, right?”
Gintoki shook his head. “Nah, they were outside Kintoki’s hypnotic range.”
“I figured.” Katsura sighed. “So were some of our spies and observers. But our current headquarters was inside it, so when the spies came back to report in, they got confused over one issue, and the rest of us were more confused, listening to them. They said there had been a rônin with a white perm among the Check It Out faction, who turned on them to help free their Shinsengumi hostage, but who also spoke up for their lives to be spared. And that he claimed to be the White Yaksha.”
Gintoki picked his nose and didn’t say anything.
“Only when we listened to that report,” said Katsura, “I had no idea who the White Yaksha was supposed to be. I only knew of the Golden Yaksha. And even our sources started to forget the White Yaksha while they reported in, so they were confused by their own accounts. Still, it did tickle my mind, and I meant to bring it up to Kintoki, just to hear what he thought… But I kept forgetting to.” He frowned, wondering now if that forgetfulness was due to Kintoki’s powers, too. “But anyway,” he finished, looking at Gintoki, “I’m glad you did stand up for the lives of those men, at least.”
Gintoki shrugged. “Nobody else was going to speak for them. Nobody else cared. So I had to.”
Katsura nodded. “The Check It Out faction has gone bad, now; but it didn’t have to happen. Its first leaders were put in prison for minor infractions that were judged subversive, and the new leader was unworthy, a man of small goals, few scruples, and long grudges. One of those cases where the right man at the right time could have made a difference.”
He stopped and parted the curtains of a bar with decent prices where you could sit and talk in relative privacy. He paid for a bottle of sake and brought it and two cups to the table in the corner where Gintoki had flopped down. Katsura thought it a promising sign that Gintoki hadn’t sat down by the counter, since that would have inhibited certain conversations.
Katsura poured sake for Gintoki and held his cup to be poured into, then took a drink, and continued in a low voice.
“Those fake memories, even as they’ve started to fade now… they are still. Disturbing. You see, he didn’t… His hypnosis was complete, Gintoki. It didn’t remove a single memory, it just overwrote them with straight blond hair over a dirty silver perm. So…” Colour had started to rise into his cheeks now, not just from the alcohol. “So… even certain more private moments, they still…”
“You mean, you thought you’d jumped boots with the Golden Boy,” said Gintoki curtly.
Katsura paused. “For some reason I thought you’d use ‘fucked’ and it would be beeped out,” he remarked.
“Nah, this isn’t a beeping scene.” Gintoki drained his cup, then held it out to be refilled. “Well? Did you?”
“I very much did not!!”
Gintoki nodded. “I figured,” he said, “though one never knows with you. He had a screw for a dick, you know. Probably wouldn’t be very fun. Did you make out with him, then?”
“N-no!” Katsura flushed. “I didn’t! I- I never…” His voice sank down, muttering, “There wasn’t any opportunity for something like that to happen…” under his breath.
“Ah, but you wanted to!” exclaimed Gintoki. “You flirted with him! Didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
Katsura buried his face into his hands. “I thought he was you!!” he moaned. “And I was subtle, anyway! He probably didn’t understand my meaning!”
“Really.” Gintoki’s voice was extremely dry.
“Yes, really!”
Gintoki picked his nose. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe you’re right. If he’d understood you, he’d probably have said something to me about it later, trying to get a reaction.”
That was at least a comforting thought. The whole thing was mortifying enough as it was. “Anyway…!” continued Katsura. “Whether he understood me or not, in any case I didn’t actually do anything with him. Luckily. But I still ‘remembered’ I’d done so. And…” He coughed, changed his seating, glancing behind him before going on in a lower voice, “And I’m glad all the fake memories are fading, but… I wish it would happen faster. So.”
He put his hands in his lap, trying to look composed. “So I would… I would appreciate some assistance to that purpose. To overwrite those fake memories. If you’re free the rest of the evening.”
Silence.
Katsura stared down at the grainy wood of the table, his face even hotter than before, his nose stinging from the alcohol even though he’d drunk so little of it. Suddenly he regretted this whole endeavour. What had he been thinking? What kind of way was this to proposition anyone? Gintoki had gone through enough these past few days – this was Katsura’s problem. It wasn’t fair to bring him into it.
He took another drink and put the cup down abruptly, muttering, “I – Never mind. I shouldn’t bother you with this. I can deal with it on my own. It will be fine.”
“Huuh?” Gintoki turned his head with a confused look. “What do you mean? Bit late to say that now, isn’t it? That cherry is long since popped.”
“But– It’s my problem, so—” He rose from his seat, but Gintoki snagged his sleeve and pulled it downwards.
“Sit down, idiot,” he said.
“But you shouldn’t have to—”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Zura!” Gintoki said, hushed but exasperated. “I can want it too, right? Don’t act like I’d be doing some dreadful chore. You’re a pain but you’re not that ugly.” He drained his cup and put it down on the table. “Besides, it’s been a while since the last time, anyway…” he mumbled, and now he was the one looking down at the table.
So it had, and there was a reason for that, but Katsura wasn’t about to try to explain that. He settled down. Gintoki looked absurdly attractive right now, a faint pink hue to his cheeks and an adorably sulky expression – although Katsura supposed that in his own jumbled state of mind he might not be the most objective judge. His hands all but twitched, wanting to touch that face, and more.
“Well, if you’re sure…” he said slowly, his voice still hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I’ve managed to save up enough for a cheap hotel room.”
Now Gintoki was smirking. “Hooo? Splurging, are you? Man, you must really want to scrub your brain free of gold.” Katsura half expected him to add something on the lines of “you can’t resist Gin-san’s fine body”, but Gintoki didn’t go that far. Maybe because they were in public.
He hauled out his telephone and handed it over to Gintoki. “You should let Leader know you’ll be coming home late.”
The best thing you could say about the hotel room was that it wasn’t the absolutely cheapest and shabbiest one possible, which hopefully meant it would at least be free of lice. There was nothing remotely charming about its dull brown-orange colours, nor about its decoration that seemed to combine the worst of Amanto and Western style in a threadbare way entirely bereft of the elegance sparseness could have. Too much and too little all at once; the best to do was try to ignore it.
Gintoki, standing there a little awkwardly, looked both utterly ordinary and out of place, larger than life, as if the charmless room simply molded itself around him. Strange, how he both blended in and stood out from his surroundings at the same time, a singular charisma in conflict with his casual acceptance of all things that were rundown and shabby.
Katsura stopped his mind from running on any further in vain comparisons and analyses by pulling Gintoki close with both hands encircling his face, then giving him a long kiss.
His own hesitation started to retreat as his senses put him in the here and now, and he could feel Gin respond, also a little awkwardly but not, it seemed, unwillingly; his hands encircling him, wandering down his back. Katsura in turn responded by leaning closer, kissing Gintoki’s face and neck, breathing him in.
“Oh…” he mumbled. “The smell is the same. He never overwrote the smell…” The fake memories where he had held the golden-haired samurai had still contained the same Gintoki mix of sugar, sweat, and (mysterious, indescribable) safety.
“Seriously? That’s so cheap,” mumbled Gintoki, who was now starting to move, steering them towards the bed.
“Mmm. I suppose olfactory memories might be trickier to influence-” Katsura mumbled back, but now Gintoki was pushing him down on the bed, tugging insistently at his kimono.
“Stop talking about him,” he growled, putting Katsura’s hands on his own obi as if to say, ‘you undo this one, right now’, before quickly tearing off his own sash and then belt, with a slightly clumsy eagerness that was heartening to witness. “I’m the one who’s here.”
Katsura felt clumsy and off-balance himself, not quite knowing where his hands were doing, where they should go; driven to move more quickly than was really needed. Slow down, slow down, he told himself; it was nice that Gintoki was so energetic, but Katsura didn’t have to speed ahead out of nervousness. He should make his very best to avoid this becoming a chore for Gintoki, even if Gintoki had just denied it would.
He muttered to Gintoki to take his shirt off as well after his trousers were down; when Gintoki protested that he didn’t need to, Katsura told him to behave. That he wanted to see and feel as much of Gintoki as possible, for reprogramming purposes.
“You’re way too far gone to be reprogrammed, Zura,” said Gintoki, voice already a little hoarse. “The zura.exe can’t be rebooted, it’s the most corrupted game of them all.”
“It’s not zura.exe, it’s Katsura, and that’s nonsense, I never catch viruses.”
“You are the virus,” mumbled Gintoki. “Ah… Mm… did you change your shampoo?”
“Ha ha, you noticed!” said Katsura triumphantly, which earned him an annoyed look and a whack on the head. “Yes, to a rosemary-scented one,” he continued brightly. “There was a sale… Hold on, let me get the lube and condoms.”
They ended up going with Gintoki riding him, something they’d rarely done before; when Gintoki was in a mood to bottom, he usually stayed on the literal bottom. Katsura riding him was a lot more usual. Neither of them said it in so many words, but Katsura thought Gintoki probably understood that a less common position was also less tainted by the Kintoki-fied shadow-memories.
Gintoki took a few tries before he could get his angle right, his face sweaty and screwed up with intense focus, Katsura not feeling too relaxed either – Gintoki was so tight right now – doing his best to control his breathing as his heart beat fast and his mind felt hazier by the second.
Unfortunately, now his thoughts were going right where he’d tried hard to stop them from going. Picturing a similarly muscled, well-toned chest but underneath silky golden hair and pretty, confident blue eyes, open and clear unlike Gintoki’s dead fish eyes… Katsura gritted his teeth and clenched one hand, digging into the sheet. Be gone, already; you stupid one-arc villain. Your story’s over and done with. It hadn’t even been Kintoki’s "real" android body in the fake memories; it was really nothing but his head pasted on Gintoki’s, like that time Sachan-san sent out those manipulated wedding photos.
And it had been automatic. That was the truly galling bit. Kintoki was no mind-reader: he could send out, but not receive. He seemed to have had no idea of this particular bit of Katsura’s temporary memories. It was just a side-effect of his big operation, his hypnotism mindlessly overwriting silver with gold in every mind in Kabuki District.
He let out a groan that was half a whine and bent forward, his head on Gintoki’s shoulder, hiding his face.
“Zura…” mumbled Gintoki. “You don’t have to… You know…” Then he trailed off, perspiration shimmering on his cheek and neck, a dusky look on his face. He sat with his knees up, his feet pressed to Katsura’s buttocks. Katsura’s hand sneaked over to rub Gintoki’s dick some more.
“Don’t have to what?” he whispered.
“Forget it. Doesn’t matter.” Gintoki kissed his face, holding his shoulder, one hand going through his hair. “I forgot it, too.”
“I want to forget everything,” said Katsura, not knowing where that came from, “except you.”
“Huhh? Don’t sound like a fucking TV drama, Zura. You don’t mean something that dumb.”
“I suppose not,” admitted Katsura. “But it was a romantic phrase, you should appreciate it, you bastard. Ah…!” Gintoki adjusted his position and leaned his weight on Katsura’s shoulders to raise himself up a bit, then come further down, again and again. “Nggh!”
“That’s… freaking… my line.” But Gintoki looked a fair bit self-satisfied, all the same. In light of the circumstances, Katsura decided he could be allowed some smugness.
But he moved his hands to Gintoki’s butt, now that his dick couldn’t get much harder. “Shall we move up the pace?”
“You’re going to be the goddamn death of me, wig,” muttered Gintoki, then took a deep breath and threw him a cheeky grin. “Hang on.”
Katsura closed his eyes, trying again to ward off the unwanted illusionary memories (and behind them, a number of true, bleaker memories that should also be warded away from this moment); trying to just stay in this present: silver hair touching his forehead, red eyes gazing on him. He let out a small moan as he leaned backward and then bucked upwards to meet Gintoki’s movements with his.
He heard Gintoki mumble something that might have been ‘I’m out of shape’, but it felt hard to focus right now.
“G-Gintoki… Mo-more…” he breathed out.
Gintoki didn’t say anything smug or even ticked off at that one; he just scrunched his face in concentration and breathed heavily, making obvious efforts to control his breathing, letting out a grunt and a whine. Katsura’s cheeks were hot.
But what he truly meant was, I want more of you, layer upon layer; I want so much of your tarnished silver that not only will that pathetic artificial fool’s gold melt away entirely, but no future attempt at tampering with my mind will work, either.
I want that, but I’m a selfish, greedy coward. I want so much, but what can I offer in return? He drew a hand up and down Gintoki’s back, his own breathing strained. A familiar sense of yearning, bittersweet inadequacy returned to him. All I can give him are a few stolen hours here and there with an outlaw who’s unable to put his sword down, and who can’t find the right words to reach anyone. I want to drown myself in Gintoki, while only offering him the most shallow puddle in recompense.
But at least that too-familiar feeling of falling short had nothing to do with the golden man, he realized dimly; and that thought was like a streak of sunlight shining down through a crack in the storm clouds. The relief of it was palpable.
He had to swallow a bit to keep himself from tearing up; but the shift in his breathing must have come through for Gintoki anyhow, whose hands were moving up and down his back now, his own breath ragged, shifting position a little once more. Let this last, let this last, let this last ran like a refrain through Katsura's head (but was he truly Katsura right now, or merely Zura?), even though he knew by both of their bodies it would be over soon. He thought confusedly of gaining points through videogames, and wishing this moment was a save-point. Well, maybe it will be, in a way. An anchor-point for a true, strong memory, to hold onto in uncertainties to come...
Still, he really couldn’t hold on for much longer, so it was a new relief to sense Gintoki’s breath also quickening for the final stretch; they moved together in concert, and Gintoki came after just a few final strokes that Katsura provided, hand trembling by now. A few thrusts later, and he came too.
They leaned on each other for a moment, till Gintoki grumbled wordlessly and Katsura pulled out of him, then pulled off the dirty condom with a sigh.
“We should clean up,” he said, voice still rough and shaking some. “It’s not fair to leave it to the hotel staff. This isn’t a love hotel.”
“We just used it as one, though. Bet plenty of guests do,” Gintoki pointed out. Katsura felt his gaze on him. He didn’t look up.
“God, Zura,” Gintoki went on. “You were so damn quiet. I’m so used to you saying the stupidest things when we’re fucking. It was throwing me off.” Then he yawned and got to his feet. “I need a shower, not just tissues.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Katsura admitted, getting up as well. After a few steps, he grabbed Gintoki’s arm, stopping.
“What?”
“Gintoki. It worked,” he said quietly. The confusing, disturbing spell of those lingering fake memories were gone now, the illusions dispelled and broken up like feathery clouds blown through by strong winds. “The one who was trying to keep you forgotten… now I’ve forgotten him.” He shuffled even closer, swept Gintoki’s hair away from his forehead, and leaned up to kiss him there. I can do this much, at least. With a small but genuine smile, he continued, “You’ve won.”
Gintoki’s eyes widened, and he swallowed audibly. Then he reddened and looked away.
“Don’t mention it,” he said roughly, even though Katsura hadn’t actually thanked him. “Let’s just go take a damn shower, idiot.”
“That’s my line, permheaded imbecile,” said Katsura brightly.
He tucked the yearning deep inside him again, unable to do anything else with it. For now, this wasn’t too bad.
Continued in Chapter 4.
Chapters: 3/5
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: Around 4000 in this installment
Characters/Pairing: Gintoki/Katsura; with some GinTakaZura vibes and some Katsura->Ikumatsu, but only Gin and Zura are featured in the fic (of those four characters)
Spoilers/Setting: See more in the post for Chapter 1. This chapter spoils the Kintama arc.
Summary: See Chapter 1.
Continued from Chapter 2
Two days after the defeat of Kintoki Sakata, Katsura found Odd Jobs in a cluttered side-street, putting up posters for some massage parlour or other while arguing and throwing glue on each other. He put his arms into his sleeves and waited in the shadows for a few minutes, until Leader announced that they’d run out of posters so that meant they were over and done with, right?
“We only ran out of them because you two kept glueing them in weird places where no-one’s ever going to look!” muttered Shinpachi, but not too fervently. He seemed ready to go home, too.
“At least I didn’t stop to prioritise an Otsu poster above the client’s!” retorted Kagura.
“You just don’t understand advertising, Pachi-Boy,” said Gintoki, “you can’t be too modest in this business…”
Katsura cleared his throat, and when nobody reacted, he stepped up and took the dripping brush of glue away from Gintoki. “You seem to be finished with work for today,” he said.
“What are you doing here, Zura?” asked Leader, jumping down from the low roof where she’d glued the last poster.
“Just passing through,” said Katsura, putting the brush in the glue bucket that Shinpachi was holding. “Gintoki. Can I talk to you?”
Gintoki gave him a flat look, then turned his head, yawned and stretched, scratching his stomach. “I’m going to the nearest pachinko hall,” he announced.
“Oh no, you’re not!” exclaimed Shinpachi.
“Give us our pay first!” roared Leader.
They ganged up on him and Katsura did his part by pushing Gintoki from behind, blocking his escape. “Fine, fine, FINE!” he grumbled, giving Shinpachi and Kagura a small wad of bills each, then put the remainder in his pocket, looking really put out.
“That had better go to the rent,” said Shinpachi, eyes narrowed. “Don’t let him into the pachinko place, Katsura-san.”
“Yeah, he’ll need that to buy food for Sadaharu!” agreed Leader. Then the two of them were off, apparently content to leaving their leader in Katsura’s care.
“Damn brats,” muttered Gintoki, but didn’t look too upset.
“They seem to be doing fine,” said Katsura. It was encouraging that Shinpachi and Leader weren’t letting Gintoki get away with doing as he pleased out of guilt: if they had, that would surely just have bothered Gintoki that much more.
“Now you’ve ruined the rest of my plans for the evening,” said Gintoki. “You’d better make up for it, Zura. Take responsibility by buying me a drink at least, bastard.”
“Tch, I guess I can let you have one drink,” said Katsura. “If you let me pick out the bar. And it’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.”
They walked in silence for a few minutes.
“Gintoki,” Katsura started, then paused, unsure of how to begin. “I… Are you doing all right?”
“Huh? Me? Sure, I’m fine.” Gintoki picked his nose, looking forward. “Why wouldn’t I be fine? Just because I came back to my home district to find everyone had forgotten me and replaced me with a straight-haired usurper who took over my whole past and my role as main character and then tried to start a whole new manga on top of it? Just because even people who’ve known me since before I grew hair down there were taken in by him and forgot I ever existed? Because the only ones who remembered me were my dog and my robot friend? No, it’s fine, fine.” He waved his hand dismissively. “You can buy me two drinks to apologise. Hold on, make it three.”
Katsura was actually heartened to see Gintoki being pettily bitter. It meant he felt better than if he were just serenely refusing to blame anyone because he didn’t value himself. However…
“You can have one (1) drink,” he said primly. “I’m not made out of money, and your liver isn’t made out of iron.”
“Cheapskate bastard.” Pause. “I can’t believe you just pronounced that parenthesis.”
Katsura waved this aside. “And I have no intention of apologising,” he added.
“No?” Gintoki glanced at him, a hint of surprise in his tone.
What good would apologising do, anyway? Gintoki had surely had enough of it by now. Katsura crossed his arms over his chest. “Obviously that man’s hypnotic powers were ridiculously strong, in effect and in range both. He was even able to change past volumes of the manga! If anyone should apologise it ought to be Gengai-dono, for building such abilities into a robot in the first place. Can you imagine if the government were to get ahold of something like that? Why, it’s equivalent to the Renho’s weapons!”
Gintoki gave him a half-lidded look. “Then what did you want to talk about that couldn’t wait?”
Katsura exhaled. “I don’t want to apologise, but… I want to… explain.” He lowered his voice. “Gintoki, I’m feeling confused.”
“Nothing new in that. You’re always confused, Zura.”
“It’s not Zura, it’s Katsura.” He did his best to collect his thoughts. “It’s already getting hazy in my mind, and it’s confusing trying to remember remembering fake memories… That is to say…” He took a deep breath. “The man I remembered, the boy I remembered when I was under that hypnotic influence… up until a few weeks ago, he acted just like you, he spoke just like you, he did all the things I remember you doing… only he had straight blond hair and blue eyes. In everything else, he… he was you, effectively.” They rounded a corner and left Kabuki proper, as the bar Katsura had in mind was a few blocks further away. “Up until the point where he started to change, becoming more upstanding and productive, a more conscientious person. Foolishly, I didn’t realise this indicated something was wrong. I thought you – him – had just received an uncommon burst of energy and confidence in yourself. I was happy for you, but I was also fairly busy with Jôi activities and working so I could eat.”
Gintoki sighed, arm resting in his yukata. “I know all that already, Zura. Tama explained it at the time.”
“She is very perceptive. But she could only observe it from the outside, not…” He rubbed his forehead. Maybe he shouldn’t bring up the other part right now, out in the open like this. “Oh, and another thing,” he said instead, disapproval sneaking into his voice. “I heard you’ve been mixing up with the police again. A conflict between the Shinsengumi and that new Mimawarigumi lot.”
“Henhhh? I guess,” said Gintoki in an obnoxious tone, giving him a look as if Katsura was being impossible. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“The Shinsengumi didn’t have any problems remembering you, right?”
Gintoki shook his head. “Nah, they were outside Kintoki’s hypnotic range.”
“I figured.” Katsura sighed. “So were some of our spies and observers. But our current headquarters was inside it, so when the spies came back to report in, they got confused over one issue, and the rest of us were more confused, listening to them. They said there had been a rônin with a white perm among the Check It Out faction, who turned on them to help free their Shinsengumi hostage, but who also spoke up for their lives to be spared. And that he claimed to be the White Yaksha.”
Gintoki picked his nose and didn’t say anything.
“Only when we listened to that report,” said Katsura, “I had no idea who the White Yaksha was supposed to be. I only knew of the Golden Yaksha. And even our sources started to forget the White Yaksha while they reported in, so they were confused by their own accounts. Still, it did tickle my mind, and I meant to bring it up to Kintoki, just to hear what he thought… But I kept forgetting to.” He frowned, wondering now if that forgetfulness was due to Kintoki’s powers, too. “But anyway,” he finished, looking at Gintoki, “I’m glad you did stand up for the lives of those men, at least.”
Gintoki shrugged. “Nobody else was going to speak for them. Nobody else cared. So I had to.”
Katsura nodded. “The Check It Out faction has gone bad, now; but it didn’t have to happen. Its first leaders were put in prison for minor infractions that were judged subversive, and the new leader was unworthy, a man of small goals, few scruples, and long grudges. One of those cases where the right man at the right time could have made a difference.”
He stopped and parted the curtains of a bar with decent prices where you could sit and talk in relative privacy. He paid for a bottle of sake and brought it and two cups to the table in the corner where Gintoki had flopped down. Katsura thought it a promising sign that Gintoki hadn’t sat down by the counter, since that would have inhibited certain conversations.
Katsura poured sake for Gintoki and held his cup to be poured into, then took a drink, and continued in a low voice.
“Those fake memories, even as they’ve started to fade now… they are still. Disturbing. You see, he didn’t… His hypnosis was complete, Gintoki. It didn’t remove a single memory, it just overwrote them with straight blond hair over a dirty silver perm. So…” Colour had started to rise into his cheeks now, not just from the alcohol. “So… even certain more private moments, they still…”
“You mean, you thought you’d jumped boots with the Golden Boy,” said Gintoki curtly.
Katsura paused. “For some reason I thought you’d use ‘fucked’ and it would be beeped out,” he remarked.
“Nah, this isn’t a beeping scene.” Gintoki drained his cup, then held it out to be refilled. “Well? Did you?”
“I very much did not!!”
Gintoki nodded. “I figured,” he said, “though one never knows with you. He had a screw for a dick, you know. Probably wouldn’t be very fun. Did you make out with him, then?”
“N-no!” Katsura flushed. “I didn’t! I- I never…” His voice sank down, muttering, “There wasn’t any opportunity for something like that to happen…” under his breath.
“Ah, but you wanted to!” exclaimed Gintoki. “You flirted with him! Didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
Katsura buried his face into his hands. “I thought he was you!!” he moaned. “And I was subtle, anyway! He probably didn’t understand my meaning!”
“Really.” Gintoki’s voice was extremely dry.
“Yes, really!”
Gintoki picked his nose. “Yeah, yeah. Maybe you’re right. If he’d understood you, he’d probably have said something to me about it later, trying to get a reaction.”
That was at least a comforting thought. The whole thing was mortifying enough as it was. “Anyway…!” continued Katsura. “Whether he understood me or not, in any case I didn’t actually do anything with him. Luckily. But I still ‘remembered’ I’d done so. And…” He coughed, changed his seating, glancing behind him before going on in a lower voice, “And I’m glad all the fake memories are fading, but… I wish it would happen faster. So.”
He put his hands in his lap, trying to look composed. “So I would… I would appreciate some assistance to that purpose. To overwrite those fake memories. If you’re free the rest of the evening.”
Silence.
Katsura stared down at the grainy wood of the table, his face even hotter than before, his nose stinging from the alcohol even though he’d drunk so little of it. Suddenly he regretted this whole endeavour. What had he been thinking? What kind of way was this to proposition anyone? Gintoki had gone through enough these past few days – this was Katsura’s problem. It wasn’t fair to bring him into it.
He took another drink and put the cup down abruptly, muttering, “I – Never mind. I shouldn’t bother you with this. I can deal with it on my own. It will be fine.”
“Huuh?” Gintoki turned his head with a confused look. “What do you mean? Bit late to say that now, isn’t it? That cherry is long since popped.”
“But– It’s my problem, so—” He rose from his seat, but Gintoki snagged his sleeve and pulled it downwards.
“Sit down, idiot,” he said.
“But you shouldn’t have to—”
“Oh, for crying out loud, Zura!” Gintoki said, hushed but exasperated. “I can want it too, right? Don’t act like I’d be doing some dreadful chore. You’re a pain but you’re not that ugly.” He drained his cup and put it down on the table. “Besides, it’s been a while since the last time, anyway…” he mumbled, and now he was the one looking down at the table.
So it had, and there was a reason for that, but Katsura wasn’t about to try to explain that. He settled down. Gintoki looked absurdly attractive right now, a faint pink hue to his cheeks and an adorably sulky expression – although Katsura supposed that in his own jumbled state of mind he might not be the most objective judge. His hands all but twitched, wanting to touch that face, and more.
“Well, if you’re sure…” he said slowly, his voice still hoarse. He cleared his throat. “I’ve managed to save up enough for a cheap hotel room.”
Now Gintoki was smirking. “Hooo? Splurging, are you? Man, you must really want to scrub your brain free of gold.” Katsura half expected him to add something on the lines of “you can’t resist Gin-san’s fine body”, but Gintoki didn’t go that far. Maybe because they were in public.
He hauled out his telephone and handed it over to Gintoki. “You should let Leader know you’ll be coming home late.”
The best thing you could say about the hotel room was that it wasn’t the absolutely cheapest and shabbiest one possible, which hopefully meant it would at least be free of lice. There was nothing remotely charming about its dull brown-orange colours, nor about its decoration that seemed to combine the worst of Amanto and Western style in a threadbare way entirely bereft of the elegance sparseness could have. Too much and too little all at once; the best to do was try to ignore it.
Gintoki, standing there a little awkwardly, looked both utterly ordinary and out of place, larger than life, as if the charmless room simply molded itself around him. Strange, how he both blended in and stood out from his surroundings at the same time, a singular charisma in conflict with his casual acceptance of all things that were rundown and shabby.
Katsura stopped his mind from running on any further in vain comparisons and analyses by pulling Gintoki close with both hands encircling his face, then giving him a long kiss.
His own hesitation started to retreat as his senses put him in the here and now, and he could feel Gin respond, also a little awkwardly but not, it seemed, unwillingly; his hands encircling him, wandering down his back. Katsura in turn responded by leaning closer, kissing Gintoki’s face and neck, breathing him in.
“Oh…” he mumbled. “The smell is the same. He never overwrote the smell…” The fake memories where he had held the golden-haired samurai had still contained the same Gintoki mix of sugar, sweat, and (mysterious, indescribable) safety.
“Seriously? That’s so cheap,” mumbled Gintoki, who was now starting to move, steering them towards the bed.
“Mmm. I suppose olfactory memories might be trickier to influence-” Katsura mumbled back, but now Gintoki was pushing him down on the bed, tugging insistently at his kimono.
“Stop talking about him,” he growled, putting Katsura’s hands on his own obi as if to say, ‘you undo this one, right now’, before quickly tearing off his own sash and then belt, with a slightly clumsy eagerness that was heartening to witness. “I’m the one who’s here.”
Katsura felt clumsy and off-balance himself, not quite knowing where his hands were doing, where they should go; driven to move more quickly than was really needed. Slow down, slow down, he told himself; it was nice that Gintoki was so energetic, but Katsura didn’t have to speed ahead out of nervousness. He should make his very best to avoid this becoming a chore for Gintoki, even if Gintoki had just denied it would.
He muttered to Gintoki to take his shirt off as well after his trousers were down; when Gintoki protested that he didn’t need to, Katsura told him to behave. That he wanted to see and feel as much of Gintoki as possible, for reprogramming purposes.
“You’re way too far gone to be reprogrammed, Zura,” said Gintoki, voice already a little hoarse. “The zura.exe can’t be rebooted, it’s the most corrupted game of them all.”
“It’s not zura.exe, it’s Katsura, and that’s nonsense, I never catch viruses.”
“You are the virus,” mumbled Gintoki. “Ah… Mm… did you change your shampoo?”
“Ha ha, you noticed!” said Katsura triumphantly, which earned him an annoyed look and a whack on the head. “Yes, to a rosemary-scented one,” he continued brightly. “There was a sale… Hold on, let me get the lube and condoms.”
They ended up going with Gintoki riding him, something they’d rarely done before; when Gintoki was in a mood to bottom, he usually stayed on the literal bottom. Katsura riding him was a lot more usual. Neither of them said it in so many words, but Katsura thought Gintoki probably understood that a less common position was also less tainted by the Kintoki-fied shadow-memories.
Gintoki took a few tries before he could get his angle right, his face sweaty and screwed up with intense focus, Katsura not feeling too relaxed either – Gintoki was so tight right now – doing his best to control his breathing as his heart beat fast and his mind felt hazier by the second.
Unfortunately, now his thoughts were going right where he’d tried hard to stop them from going. Picturing a similarly muscled, well-toned chest but underneath silky golden hair and pretty, confident blue eyes, open and clear unlike Gintoki’s dead fish eyes… Katsura gritted his teeth and clenched one hand, digging into the sheet. Be gone, already; you stupid one-arc villain. Your story’s over and done with. It hadn’t even been Kintoki’s "real" android body in the fake memories; it was really nothing but his head pasted on Gintoki’s, like that time Sachan-san sent out those manipulated wedding photos.
And it had been automatic. That was the truly galling bit. Kintoki was no mind-reader: he could send out, but not receive. He seemed to have had no idea of this particular bit of Katsura’s temporary memories. It was just a side-effect of his big operation, his hypnotism mindlessly overwriting silver with gold in every mind in Kabuki District.
He let out a groan that was half a whine and bent forward, his head on Gintoki’s shoulder, hiding his face.
“Zura…” mumbled Gintoki. “You don’t have to… You know…” Then he trailed off, perspiration shimmering on his cheek and neck, a dusky look on his face. He sat with his knees up, his feet pressed to Katsura’s buttocks. Katsura’s hand sneaked over to rub Gintoki’s dick some more.
“Don’t have to what?” he whispered.
“Forget it. Doesn’t matter.” Gintoki kissed his face, holding his shoulder, one hand going through his hair. “I forgot it, too.”
“I want to forget everything,” said Katsura, not knowing where that came from, “except you.”
“Huhh? Don’t sound like a fucking TV drama, Zura. You don’t mean something that dumb.”
“I suppose not,” admitted Katsura. “But it was a romantic phrase, you should appreciate it, you bastard. Ah…!” Gintoki adjusted his position and leaned his weight on Katsura’s shoulders to raise himself up a bit, then come further down, again and again. “Nggh!”
“That’s… freaking… my line.” But Gintoki looked a fair bit self-satisfied, all the same. In light of the circumstances, Katsura decided he could be allowed some smugness.
But he moved his hands to Gintoki’s butt, now that his dick couldn’t get much harder. “Shall we move up the pace?”
“You’re going to be the goddamn death of me, wig,” muttered Gintoki, then took a deep breath and threw him a cheeky grin. “Hang on.”
Katsura closed his eyes, trying again to ward off the unwanted illusionary memories (and behind them, a number of true, bleaker memories that should also be warded away from this moment); trying to just stay in this present: silver hair touching his forehead, red eyes gazing on him. He let out a small moan as he leaned backward and then bucked upwards to meet Gintoki’s movements with his.
He heard Gintoki mumble something that might have been ‘I’m out of shape’, but it felt hard to focus right now.
“G-Gintoki… Mo-more…” he breathed out.
Gintoki didn’t say anything smug or even ticked off at that one; he just scrunched his face in concentration and breathed heavily, making obvious efforts to control his breathing, letting out a grunt and a whine. Katsura’s cheeks were hot.
But what he truly meant was, I want more of you, layer upon layer; I want so much of your tarnished silver that not only will that pathetic artificial fool’s gold melt away entirely, but no future attempt at tampering with my mind will work, either.
I want that, but I’m a selfish, greedy coward. I want so much, but what can I offer in return? He drew a hand up and down Gintoki’s back, his own breathing strained. A familiar sense of yearning, bittersweet inadequacy returned to him. All I can give him are a few stolen hours here and there with an outlaw who’s unable to put his sword down, and who can’t find the right words to reach anyone. I want to drown myself in Gintoki, while only offering him the most shallow puddle in recompense.
But at least that too-familiar feeling of falling short had nothing to do with the golden man, he realized dimly; and that thought was like a streak of sunlight shining down through a crack in the storm clouds. The relief of it was palpable.
He had to swallow a bit to keep himself from tearing up; but the shift in his breathing must have come through for Gintoki anyhow, whose hands were moving up and down his back now, his own breath ragged, shifting position a little once more. Let this last, let this last, let this last ran like a refrain through Katsura's head (but was he truly Katsura right now, or merely Zura?), even though he knew by both of their bodies it would be over soon. He thought confusedly of gaining points through videogames, and wishing this moment was a save-point. Well, maybe it will be, in a way. An anchor-point for a true, strong memory, to hold onto in uncertainties to come...
Still, he really couldn’t hold on for much longer, so it was a new relief to sense Gintoki’s breath also quickening for the final stretch; they moved together in concert, and Gintoki came after just a few final strokes that Katsura provided, hand trembling by now. A few thrusts later, and he came too.
They leaned on each other for a moment, till Gintoki grumbled wordlessly and Katsura pulled out of him, then pulled off the dirty condom with a sigh.
“We should clean up,” he said, voice still rough and shaking some. “It’s not fair to leave it to the hotel staff. This isn’t a love hotel.”
“We just used it as one, though. Bet plenty of guests do,” Gintoki pointed out. Katsura felt his gaze on him. He didn’t look up.
“God, Zura,” Gintoki went on. “You were so damn quiet. I’m so used to you saying the stupidest things when we’re fucking. It was throwing me off.” Then he yawned and got to his feet. “I need a shower, not just tissues.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Katsura admitted, getting up as well. After a few steps, he grabbed Gintoki’s arm, stopping.
“What?”
“Gintoki. It worked,” he said quietly. The confusing, disturbing spell of those lingering fake memories were gone now, the illusions dispelled and broken up like feathery clouds blown through by strong winds. “The one who was trying to keep you forgotten… now I’ve forgotten him.” He shuffled even closer, swept Gintoki’s hair away from his forehead, and leaned up to kiss him there. I can do this much, at least. With a small but genuine smile, he continued, “You’ve won.”
Gintoki’s eyes widened, and he swallowed audibly. Then he reddened and looked away.
“Don’t mention it,” he said roughly, even though Katsura hadn’t actually thanked him. “Let’s just go take a damn shower, idiot.”
“That’s my line, permheaded imbecile,” said Katsura brightly.
He tucked the yearning deep inside him again, unable to do anything else with it. For now, this wasn’t too bad.
Continued in Chapter 4.