Gintama Fan Fiction ❯ salarymen go to heaven ❯ part 4 ( Chapter 4 )

I DO NOT own Aki- I mean, Gintama

 

 

* * Part Four: In Which I Finally Explain the Title (Sort of but Not Really) * *

 

 

Okita rolled onto his side to avoid putting pressure on his right knee which ached dangerously. It seemed to have twisted slightly out of the socket with a really scary popping sound the last time he tried leaning on it, but he didn't have a spare moment to try and fix it properly. Kagura was flinging her bloody umbrella around with every intention of bashing his head in, there was not a single heartbeat of pause. Not that he would have it any other way.

 

Last time he had workout this good was with Hijikata, but that was ages ago. After they both needed to be hospitalised for multiple fractures and a cracked skull, Kondo absolutely forbade them from ever sparring again. Under pain of death. Which, in Kondo's language, meant he would be extremely disappointed in both of them and wouldn't like them for an entire week.

 

Strangely enough, this was enough of a threat and so they never had another session together. Nowadays, they simply got into the habit of not meeting on the training grounds if they knew the other would be there alone. Hijikata had early mornings, from the crack of dawn until breakfast. Okita had late nights when everyone who didn't know him well enough (which was everyone save two people) thought he was asleep. During the day, Hijikata would inspire the fear of god in the recruits and Okita would occasionally pop up to demonstrate what would happen to those who didn't follow Hijikata's drills. As a matter of fact, by the third time Okita mopped the floor with an overly confident young member and beat his teeth out only to install them into the man's bellybutton, they had the troops conditioned so well between the two of them that it was enough for Okita to pass in front of the training hall and everyone would start giving their one hundred and thirty percent.

 

All of this made for a lot of free time, that much he was willing to admit. But it also took away the pleasure of sparring, however easy the greenhorns whose faces he rearranged usually were. So, four weeks ago, when he decided to waste some of his time picking on the China girl and she kicked his head in for it, he was silently filled with glee.

 

The following week they met in the same place (whether by accident or not was beside the point) and this time they had an evened out match which ended in much destruction and a broken nose that left Okita looking like a panda for the rest of the week, much to the hidden delight of some wayward junior officers he had to chastise later on. Last week he pulled a victory (only barely, he had to admit; she had the upper hand all along, until he managed to drive her off the bridge and into the water where she slipped), and now he was commanding the tempo.

 

Well, more or less.

 

Kagura escaped the whistling blade aimed at her thighs but then met with the heavy lacquered scabbard in mid air. It sent her flying to the side with a painful warning from her ribs that she would pay for it later. Okita, trying not to lean on his right leg, scurried towards her, brown eyes shining red and opened wide. The way she liked them.

 

This time she blocked the sword's projected path and sent the scabbard flying out of his hands with a well aimed kick. Okita retaliated, punching her in the stomach. He swung the katana towards her head again, she dodged and so it went on.

 

Remotely, she knew it was almost time for him to go back to work. Another fifteen minutes at the most and she would have to let him go and return home, to a well deserved bucket of rice. She was ashamed to admit she will be sorry. She may have thought the man was a despicable pervert with the moral make-up of a night-time crawler with too many hairy legs, but when he fought her, it was a different story altogether.

 

Brown hair flying in all directions, eyes polished to a deep red of Autumn and white teeth glaring at her through a pair of flushed lips he would unconsciously lick every so often, he was… fetching.

 

Say WHAT?

 

A particularly vicious hit she aimed at his crotch misfired and he had the tiniest window to turn her unbalanced shuffle into advantage. He took it, slamming the hilt of his sword on her wrist, hard enough to crack it. She whelped in pain and let go of her weapon.

 

Okita smirked greedily and plunged his sword into her.

 

…

 

…

 

Whoa.

 

Kagura felt around her waist. The sword was there, on her left side. In front of her, Okita was breathing wildly, in complete rapture. She realised her own grin never once moved from her face. She felt around her waist again, this time looking for blood and pain. And found only a thin line of it, not even the size of a paper cut.

 

His sword continued behind her, ending up in a tree, but it sliced only through her dress and not her bowels, nipping the skin just for good measure.

 

“I win,” he breathed.

 

“You missed,” said Kagura.

 

“Would you prefer if I'd have run you through, China? I chose not to kill you. That would just be too much paperwork,” he cocked his head.

 

Kagura felt white rage and shame boiling in her chest. Her eyes filled with tears. “Fine, you win. But it's not fair!”

 

“And why is that, China?” said Okita, straightening from his crouch and pulling the sword from the tree roughly. He didn't even nick her flesh in passing, though.

 

“I didn't eat breakfast!” screamed Kagura in indignation.

 

“Don't be a sore loser. I won today, which means I won last week as well. And now I get to punish you,” he added with boredom, as if all of it didn't have to do anything with him after all.

 

Kagura looked to the side and gulped down her tears.

 

“You OK with that, China?” jabbed Okita. His knee throbbed even more now that he was taking the time and noticing it. He felt bruises forming in other places as well. He'll need to produce some random terrorists VERY quickly and take the rest of the day off.

 

Kagura was still looking at the ground. A thin streak of her skin was washed clean of mud and dust by the tears she now kept boxed below her throat. Her chest was still heaving up and down in a rhythm that Okita could associate with many words he didn't care to speak out loud, even to himself.

 

With a cut in her side, bruises on her hands and knees and her head thrown to the side in the vengeful defeat of an equal by and equal, she was the incarnation of a wet dream. Okita gaped at his own thoughts, something he never, ever did. Inwardly, his shoulders shrugged after a few seconds of doubt and he told himself: `yeah, well, whatever turns you on'. It was a rather satisfying mantra, that. Very flexible and forgiving.

 

“…no death and sexual things, though. That was the deal, right? And I can break your knees later, right?”

 

“If you want to,” snorted Okita.

 

“Ok, so what is it?” she said in a disdainful voice that oozed fluttering anticipation around the edges.

 

“Hmm, you have to stand still until my break is over,” said Okita flatly.

 

“WHAT?” blurted Kagura. That didn't sound nearly as bad as she thought it would. Therefore, it was much worse. If he had told her to go piss on a random passer-by and giggle wildly, she would've done it. And broken his knee caps later, but there wouldn't be any of the savage insecurity she felt now.

 

“You are not allowed to move unless I say so. Until my break ends and I have to go back to work.”

 

“That's my punishment?”

 

“Yep. No death and no sex, right?”

 

She thought about it for a moment. “…when does your break end, exactly?”

 

Okita laughed a very innocent, ringing laugh. “In five minutes or so, don't worry, China. Although, it would be quite a neat trick if I asked the commander for time off. I think I have about three months worth of paid vacation time stocked so far.”

 

Kagura rummaged through her head, found no catch and leaned on the tree behind her for comfort. “Ok, I'm standing still,” she said finally.

 

Okita was buried in the same place, watching her with a suspiciously victorious grin on his face. Breaths passed and Kagura became quite uncomfortable under that gaze. “What about blinking, then? Gotta blink, right?”

 

“You can close your eyes if you want, China.” He sounded amused. Bad sign. “I am a lot more worried about that flapping mouth, though,” concluded Okita, turned on his heel and went off to find his scabbard, leaving Kagura plastered on the damp bark. All around her, fallen leaves made a rich pattern of yellow, red and brown. She looked at it, thinking that, perhaps, Okita just told her to stand still because he wanted to get rid of her. He didn't feel like playing any more, she bored him and he wouldn't come back, not now, not next week either. A bitter sadness formed in Kagura's throat and she decided his knee caps are going to get broken one way or another.

 

Just as she swore vengeance, Okita appeared in front of her, sword sheathed and stuck in his belt. He limped to stand right up to her face. “Wow, China, I didn't think you could actually do it,” he grumbled.

 

Kagura became suddenly aware everything around them smelled nice. The earth, mushy and cold from the night's rain, the carpet of leaves, the wild mushrooms, the bark of the tree, she could smell everything. And within it, his breath. Her own damp skin. She could smell him come closer.

 

A hand, surprisingly warm, turned her head to look at chocolate coloured eyes. She never saw them this close and now, for the first time, she noticed there were little red lights, like some grotesque fireflies, playing in the irises. The source of his bloodlust.

 

Okita bent down and pressed a full mouth to her own. He caught her upper lip between his two and rolled it around gently. She felt her nerves jolt with electricity and then break down when the brain tried commanding them to move her limbs. The body simply did not obey.

 

Okita detached and cocked his head to the side. “Gonna break my knees in another moment or so, aren't you?”

 

Kagura finally found the button you need to press to make your mouth move. “It isn't worth the trouble. And here I thought kissing was a big deal, they make it look so cool on TV,” she snorted

 

“Don't tell me that was you first kiss, China?” he snickered.

 

“It was and like I said, it isn't even worth breaking your knees.”

 

“Hmph, you know, it is a lot better if you cooperate.”

 

“I'm not allowed to move, remember? I lost the bet, remember?” Kagura replied in a voice that sounded like it was being dragged over a bed of nails.

 

“My break finished about two minutes ago.”

 

She stared at him, than at the clock tower that she hadn't heard ring the afternoon, then back at his thin lascivious smile. She took a deep breath and consulted her inner self. It said a lot of jumbled nonsense she didn't have time to listen to. Simply ignoring all the voices in her head without even the slightest prickling of consciousness had always been Kagura's best defence against angst, doubt or schizoid multiple personality disorder.

 

“So do you want to break my knees now?” Okita asked again. “I have to warn you, I am expecting reinforcements at any moment.”

 

“Good, more people to play with,” snarled Kagura.

 

“…very well,” conceded Okita after a miniature pause and moved away, falling into his subtle fighting stance again. “My knee caps are ready to take you on, fearless and strong in the face of their enemy.”

 

Kagura didn't move. She ignored the advice in her head some more, finally deciding what held more interest right now and it weren't practical mechanics of a person's leg. “…so it's supposed to be better if I do something as well?”

 

Okita quirked his head, hands falling to his sides, lifeless in momentary surprise. Then he pulled his heels out of the soft earth and closed the distance between them in one long, fluid movement.

 

This time around, he licked the thin space between her lips and she parted them just a bit, but squeezed them right back closed around his tongue in shock when he tried pushing it into her mouth. Okita broke off, laughing. “You know, China, it will be significantly easier if you close your eyes?”

 

“…why?”

 

“Because you are staring at me like a heap of dead cattle.”

 

“A heap of dead cattle? The hell are you thinking about?! I can't trust anyone who would think about dead cattle while being intimate with a lady, her chastity's flower at odds with her blooming womanhood?”

 

“…what? Where did you hear that expression?” blinked Okita.

 

“On a TV show about housewives.”

 

“Well, you got if wrong,” he smirked. “In any case, you need to relax.”

 

“You are thinking of dead animals!”

 

“Come on, China. Have I lied to you so far?” he said in a voice that was unlike him. It made Kagura shiver, but, she thought distractedly, not in a bad way.

 

His warm hands were on her neck and jaw line, no longer there to hold her in place like the first time but to brush out her hair, or wipe away the smudges of mud her tears had made in the corners of her eyes. He had thin hands and their skin was rough, prickly, but still strangely gentle. As a matter of fact, everything he had done so far was gentle (except punch her in the stomach and break her wrist and almost run her through with his sword).

 

So Kagura started chewing on her upper lip which transformed into licking it which transformed into kissing when Okita came down on her mouth again. This time she took his advice and closed her eyes a bit. As she did, she could see him closing his own and all of a sudden, his tongue flicked through the barrier of her teeth fearlessly. She would have bit it off if it didn't feel…good. Caressing the tip of her own tongue, withdrawing to the inside of her lips, then passing over the roof of her mouth. Gradually, Kagura started moving to match. In another world her hands came to rest around Okita's waist. At first they were barely touching the black uniform, next thing she knew they were already between the jacket and the waistcoat, warmed by his body. Her every muscle elongated to match his height and she fell on his chest, ribs giving a distant yelp of pain.

 

Okita pulled his hands down her front and around her to rest in the rise if her hips, passing her breasts and sides in a heavy, shameless way which some other woman would never have allowed him in public. Kagura either didn't mind or didn't know she should. Whichever way, it suited him just fine. She wasn't clumsy, she was a fast learner. She would let him show her before she repeated. She wasn't passive and she wasn't overzealous. As a matter of fact, she was just right, she was equal.

 

Kagura was nibbling on his lower lip when they heard voices. Okita couldn't recognise the most prominent one which was screaming about a tree and a completely new bench and the bird houses and the memorial statues of some alien writers that were missing heads and sometimes missing altogether. But he could recognise the underlying “umph” which was boiling. Hijikata would soon be upon them, with all the wrath of a forest fire.

 

“Ah,” said Kagura when he pulled away.

 

“Break's over,” he concluded. “Gotta go tell them it was all your fault,” he commented looking to the direction of the crowd. His hands were still resting lightly around Kagura in a way he would have to describe as comfortably intimate. He took them away, secretly feeling his palms for fleeting softness and warmth once they were safely at his sides again.

 

“You're welcome. I don't think even that mayo-loving commander of yours will believe you.”

 

“Hijikata is not my commander, China. That one I won't have you get wrong,” he growled without any humour.

 

Kagura snickered. “Sure, whatever.”

 

The nagging voice subsided as Hijikata flamed through a crowd of onlookers, making them jump or topple in little circles to escape the sword he started waving around his head. “OKITA!” he screamed. “Okita, I don't care what Kondo says, you'll suffer for this!”

 

“See you next week, China. I have to find some terrorists, fast.”

 

“I won't come next week!” she cried spitefully. “Because then you'll take my chastity for granted.”

 

“At odds with your blooming womanhood? Whatever you say, China, see you next Thursday,” waved Okita and walked toward the black haired man who was yelling something about righteousness, hangovers and poorly altered handwriting. His limp was far less pronounced than it should have been as he returned something along the lines of, do you really want me to get into that story now, in front of all these people, Hijikata, sir, how I witnessed appalling drunk behaviour in which many things were said AND done, things that perhaps shouldn't be repeated ever again, my young heart is scarred by them et cetera. To which the darker man went on waving the sword some more, this time in comatose silence, and then started retreating steadily, Okita in tow, through the astonished crowd. The man who had been screaming about statues and bills that needed paying was made to forget what he was saying during this strategic withdrawal, with dark glances and carefully constructed trajectories of long, sharp objects which managed to look wildly random.

 

Kagura found out next week that the man was subsequently convinced how the Shinsengumi had nothing to do with the destruction in the park that day. That, in fact, they had saved the good people of Edo from a very notorious terrorist whose name they wouldn't speak. Everyone was very grateful and even donated money to the usually impoverished Shinsengumi charity funds.

 

Evidently, whatever Okita was saying about drunken behaviour, worked well.

 

 

* *

 

 

Ok, the title. I know, I don't actually explain in it the TEXT, don't be so difficult, but if you know enough of Gintama you would've noticed the title doesn't have to refer to anything in particular.

“Salarymen go to heaven” is a tribute to Haustor and Japan at the same time. Salarymen are the working class of Japan; all the little suited people, toiling all year round, no lives whatsoever, always sitting on trains either going to work or coming back from it. Haustor is a bit more of a challenge to explain so just leave notes if you are truly interested.

The title is there because it makes no sense but it still holds one of life's great truths! All the truly great and significant things are random.