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FIC: Guilt (Hijikata/Souji) PG-13 Peacemaker Kurogane
Anime/manga fiction archive is here
TV and other fandoms: here
On Insane Journal: here
Title: Guilt
Autor: xantissa
Summary: Some days Hijikata can barely stand looking at Okita...
Fandom: Peacemaker Kurogane
Pairing: Toshizou Hijitaka/ Souji Okita
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: implied underage sex
Guilt
Hijitaka watched his drinking companion, who barely drank anything the whole evening. Souji was keeping him company, but his dislike for alcoholic beverages was not a secret. For every five cups of sake Hijikata drank, Souji drank one.
It was dark outside, the last sounds of activity from the Shinsengumi barracks died down long ago. Souji’s hair was loose as always, falling over his shoulder and face in a manner more fitting a woman than a captain of the first unit. There was nothing manly at all about Souji Okita, nothing but his unearthly skill with a sword and the sheer number of kills attributed to the young commander.
A boy really, a boy not yet shaving… a boy made by Hijikata himself, into the best swordsman in Kyoto, a killer skilled enough to cut down a whole squad of enemies single-handedly. The vice-commander looked into his cup and downed the sake in one gulp, the guilt and horror of his deeds nearly choking him. Souji was nine years old when Hijikata gave him his first real katana and took him to battle. Nine years old when the blood of his enemies splattered the child’s face. Somehow it felt that Okita’s face was never clean again. The guilt was like bile, sitting low in his stomach, churning every time he looked at this frightfully efficient man-child of a killer. Every time he watched Souji Okita’s eyes become dark, flat and filled with madness, he felt the overwhelming guilt.
A mistake he never wanted to repeat again. He could strike down countless enemies, could commit political assassination without an ounce of regret. But he would never create a monster like Souji again.
He looked up at the childlike, smiling face of his companion. The white yukata, the loose hair and eyes so wide and curious made Okita look so innocent. But Hijikata knew, all that was needed to change that innocent child into a ruthless, mad with bloodlust, animal would be a flash of a sword, a threat.
Suddenly, Souji’s eyes changed, became darker than usual, concerned.
Hijikata swore internally. He must be really drunk if Souji can see so much on his face.
The younger man tilted his head to the side, letting the mass of silky hair tumble over his right shoulder and sighed.
“Hijikata-san, why do you look at me this way?” He asked quietly, all the usual cheer gone from his voice.
The vice-commander flinched.
“Like what?” He decided to feign ignorance.
“As if the very sight of me tears a hole in your soul.” Souji's eyes were narrow and flat, all the light left them. Hijikata hated, despised, those moments with his very being. Because he knew that if it wasn’t for him, such an expression would have never been on the boy’s face.
But he held his tongue, not saying a thing. It seemed the way their odd relationship went. With Souji play-acting his second childhood and Hijikata always silent.
Okita looked into his own cup of sake.
“I was nine when you gave me the sword.” The quiet, level words said without any anger were like a punch to Hijikata’s stomach. “Is it the reason for the guilt that tears you slowly apart?” Asked the deceptively frail swordsman.
The room was so quiet, so still Hijikata could almost hear his thundering heart. It was rare for Okita to speak so honestly, openly, about their past.
“Or is it the fact that you took me to your bed not two years later?” Asked Souji with the same inflectionless voice.
Hijikata froze, his chest constricting until breathing was impossible. He hoped, prayed that Souji would never raise this topic in conversation. That he would be allowed to forget what his lapse in sanity caused.
His fingers clenched on the porcelain cup so hard it shattered, only the calluses on his skin protecting him from nasty cuts.
Souji watched him carefully, his eyes still sharp and dangerous in a way that just hurt to look at on the pretty, frail face.
Hijikata closed his eyes, hearing the swordsman move, expecting him to leave. Instead, he heard him move closer, smelled the unique scent that always made him think of the boy and then felt a fleeting touch of lips on his cheek.
He jerked his head up only to see Souji already standing and heading towards the open door.
“Souji...” He whispered, surprised, confused. Souji never brought that particular subject up before.
The swordsman paused in the open doorway, weak moonlight casting eerie shadows on his pale skin. His face was turned away from Hijitaka, making it impossible for the vice-commander to read his emotions.
Yet his voice was light, quiet, almost gentle as he answered the broken question.
“I neither asked for nor wanted your guilt.”
With those words he left, leaving Hijikata alone to ponder the implications of that single sentence.
END
AN. There a few ficelets more planned
AN2. archive of all my fiction is here
TV and other fandoms: here
On Insane Journal: here
Title: Guilt
Autor: xantissa
Summary: Some days Hijikata can barely stand looking at Okita...
Fandom: Peacemaker Kurogane
Pairing: Toshizou Hijitaka/ Souji Okita
Rating: PG-13/R
Warnings: implied underage sex
Guilt
Hijitaka watched his drinking companion, who barely drank anything the whole evening. Souji was keeping him company, but his dislike for alcoholic beverages was not a secret. For every five cups of sake Hijikata drank, Souji drank one.
It was dark outside, the last sounds of activity from the Shinsengumi barracks died down long ago. Souji’s hair was loose as always, falling over his shoulder and face in a manner more fitting a woman than a captain of the first unit. There was nothing manly at all about Souji Okita, nothing but his unearthly skill with a sword and the sheer number of kills attributed to the young commander.
A boy really, a boy not yet shaving… a boy made by Hijikata himself, into the best swordsman in Kyoto, a killer skilled enough to cut down a whole squad of enemies single-handedly. The vice-commander looked into his cup and downed the sake in one gulp, the guilt and horror of his deeds nearly choking him. Souji was nine years old when Hijikata gave him his first real katana and took him to battle. Nine years old when the blood of his enemies splattered the child’s face. Somehow it felt that Okita’s face was never clean again. The guilt was like bile, sitting low in his stomach, churning every time he looked at this frightfully efficient man-child of a killer. Every time he watched Souji Okita’s eyes become dark, flat and filled with madness, he felt the overwhelming guilt.
A mistake he never wanted to repeat again. He could strike down countless enemies, could commit political assassination without an ounce of regret. But he would never create a monster like Souji again.
He looked up at the childlike, smiling face of his companion. The white yukata, the loose hair and eyes so wide and curious made Okita look so innocent. But Hijikata knew, all that was needed to change that innocent child into a ruthless, mad with bloodlust, animal would be a flash of a sword, a threat.
Suddenly, Souji’s eyes changed, became darker than usual, concerned.
Hijikata swore internally. He must be really drunk if Souji can see so much on his face.
The younger man tilted his head to the side, letting the mass of silky hair tumble over his right shoulder and sighed.
“Hijikata-san, why do you look at me this way?” He asked quietly, all the usual cheer gone from his voice.
The vice-commander flinched.
“Like what?” He decided to feign ignorance.
“As if the very sight of me tears a hole in your soul.” Souji's eyes were narrow and flat, all the light left them. Hijikata hated, despised, those moments with his very being. Because he knew that if it wasn’t for him, such an expression would have never been on the boy’s face.
But he held his tongue, not saying a thing. It seemed the way their odd relationship went. With Souji play-acting his second childhood and Hijikata always silent.
Okita looked into his own cup of sake.
“I was nine when you gave me the sword.” The quiet, level words said without any anger were like a punch to Hijikata’s stomach. “Is it the reason for the guilt that tears you slowly apart?” Asked the deceptively frail swordsman.
The room was so quiet, so still Hijikata could almost hear his thundering heart. It was rare for Okita to speak so honestly, openly, about their past.
“Or is it the fact that you took me to your bed not two years later?” Asked Souji with the same inflectionless voice.
Hijikata froze, his chest constricting until breathing was impossible. He hoped, prayed that Souji would never raise this topic in conversation. That he would be allowed to forget what his lapse in sanity caused.
His fingers clenched on the porcelain cup so hard it shattered, only the calluses on his skin protecting him from nasty cuts.
Souji watched him carefully, his eyes still sharp and dangerous in a way that just hurt to look at on the pretty, frail face.
Hijikata closed his eyes, hearing the swordsman move, expecting him to leave. Instead, he heard him move closer, smelled the unique scent that always made him think of the boy and then felt a fleeting touch of lips on his cheek.
He jerked his head up only to see Souji already standing and heading towards the open door.
“Souji...” He whispered, surprised, confused. Souji never brought that particular subject up before.
The swordsman paused in the open doorway, weak moonlight casting eerie shadows on his pale skin. His face was turned away from Hijitaka, making it impossible for the vice-commander to read his emotions.
Yet his voice was light, quiet, almost gentle as he answered the broken question.
“I neither asked for nor wanted your guilt.”
With those words he left, leaving Hijikata alone to ponder the implications of that single sentence.
END
AN. There a few ficelets more planned
AN2. archive of all my fiction is here