THE IMMORTAL MAN.

there are no bargains between lions and men. i will kill you and eat you raw.

[haisugi]

[ teach ]  your muse taking control of mine’s hand , arm , hips , etc . to make sure they do something correctly .  

Eye to the sight. Adjust the angle for the wind. Release your breath. Hold. Ogata’s self-satisfied smirk hovering over your shoulder. Pull the trigger and-

Miss. Sugimoto groaned, letting his grip slacken on the rifle as he tried to ignore the ringing in his ears.

He hadn’t asked Ogata to disparage his shooting skills. In fact, he couldn’t remember asking Ogata for any sort of opinion at all about the matter, despite it being so graciously offered after Sugimoto insisted he could gather dinner for the night without help. A short argument and a headache later, and Sugimoto somehow found himself shrouded beneath the cover of scattered branches with the sniper in tow.

“I would have hit it if you weren’t here breathing down my neck.” An irritated click of his tongue, and the spend rounds were expelled from the chamber. “Go bother someone else.”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears​:

Something inside Ogata staggered, as if crushed by an invisible weight. He was quick to force his marrow back into compliance, or at least, what brought him closer to the cool determination needed to undermine Sugimoto’s suspicions. Baseless as they were, Ogata didn’t want to risk prolonging this conversation. They were treading dangerous grounds, much to Ogata’s distaste. He made it visible, furrow of his brow in the face of scrutiny.

The unseemly softness was back and this time, rough fingers blanketed his face. Sugimoto loomed over him, torn by the poor lightning and Ogata’s drifting consciousness. He knew Sugimoto was touching him, yet his body still felt strangely weightless and unreal.

“I’d like to know that as well…” Ogata didn’t find an answer, not in the severe gaze upon him, or the pause that elapsed for longer than he’d like. He’d committed to a purpose, one that not even Sugimoto The Immortal could stop. “…A shot through the head couldn’t kill you… so there must be another way. One that I haven’t tried.”

He smiled, unkindly. How much more would they lose at each other’s hands before they were satisfied? Games of this nature grew old fast. Even faster when the wounds inflicted were temporary. Yet, desire stirred in Ogata’s gut like a snake unfurling into wakefulness. No one else had the right to claim Sugimoto’s life. He’ll live… He’ll live until Ogata decided his time was forfeit.

Though most of his strength was gone, his limbs didn’t appear to have betrayed him when it counted. Ogata grabbed a fistful of fabric - perhaps Sugimoto’s scarf, or his coat - and jerked him closer to his face. Months had passed between then and now, and Ogata’s skin hadn’t forgotten what it felt like to have Sugimoto pressed this close to him.

Swallowing through a dry throat, Ogata’s words were a hiss barely above the murmur of Sugimoto’s timed breathing: “I’m not going to die any time soon, Sugimoto. You can be sure of that.”

"You haven’t changed at all."

A long moment passed where Sugimoto sensed nothing apart from the ragged tempo of their breathing in the still night air, suffocating as the whisper of Ogata's words passed like tiny daggers over his skin. He let it linger, heavy and silent, ignoring the lump in his throat that threatened to crescendo into tears beneath the fabric of his scarf. He wouldn't fucking cry. Not here. Not now.

He remembered that he’d cried the night of Umeko’s wedding, when the agony of loneliness set in and he wondered why he hadn’t been been good enough, or worth waiting for. Of course, he cried when his father died, and he began to understand the fragility and impermanence of life. And Toraji - when Toraji died, he cried for many nights, because finally there was nothing left of his old life that he could call his. No friends, no family, no lover.

But not here. He couldn't cry here, because doing so would be admitting that what happened between the two of them was over, and that Ogata had won.

He released Ogata from his grip, lowering the man's head gently to the futon before he freed himself from their entanglement. Legs heavy and body numb, he edged away, feet pressed flat against the floor as if urging him to leave. He should, he realized. He should walk away now, instead of clinging to the shallow strands of hope that Ogata might have loved him once, had he done something differently. But that resentment wasn't something he could escape, he knew. He could run all he wanted, but Ogata's gaze would always be there, boring into the back of his skull in silent judgment.

Sugimoto glanced back towards the man behind him, unsurprised to catch Ogata staring with what was left of his dark, heady eyes. Absurd. It was all so absurd that Sugimoto had to laugh, sharp and piercing and full of regret.

"You know, maybe I'm a liar. Maybe I'm selfish. Maybe I'm just as much of a frigid, unchanging bastard as you," Sugimoto hissed. He tried to close himself off to the yearning he'd felt when Ogata pulled him close, but the sensation of the other man’s touch still sat heavy on the back of his neck. It wasn’t enough to just let go, anymore. Not after all this time. Sugimoto felt compelled to bend over him, caging Ogata between his arms as he stared back at the man defiantly. "But despite it all, I thought, you and I... Together, we could..."

Could what, make it work? Live happily ever after? Sugimoto was surprised to find that after so many nights agonizing over what to say when they finally crossed paths again, he still couldn't find the words.

Maybe words were useless anyways. After all, Ogata had a beautiful way of twisting them and carving them until they lost all semblance of meaning. The sniper was also a butcher, in his own right.

But there were other ways to tell him. Sugimoto didn’t know if it was right. Knew, almost certainly, Ogata would push him away if he had the strength. But when he lowered himself down to Ogata’s lips and kissed him chastely, he found that he couldn’t stop himself. Didn’t even care to try.

The taste was familiar and strange all at once, unexpectedly sweet and intoxicating in a way that made Sugimoto sick. For all the times he’d thought of killing the man, he’d thought of this tenfold - of the soft curve of his mouth, the tenderness of his tongue contrasted against the harshness of his actions. Sugimoto sank into it, not bothering to hide the desperation in his pace, the need, even if Ogata felt none of the same, tangling his fingers in the man’s hair as if he might run at any moment.

"Live or die, I don't give a shit,” he lied between breaths. “You did your damage. You can't hurt me anymore."

[haisugi]

yearnedfears​:

Sugimoto’s hostility was short-lived. Like his temper, it burst into flames one moment and the next, all signs were gone. You could never guess, if it weren’t for the hard frown cutting at his forehead.

A sharp exhale escaped Sugimoto’s lips as Ogata’s mouth closed around him, the sudden wet warmth that encircled his sensitive skin sending a shudder down his spine. He was struck with the sudden need to catch his moans in his throat, head lolling back on his shoulders as a hand flew up to cover his mouth. It wasn’t that he thought anyone might hear them - no. It was that stupid fucking smirk that he knew would taunt him from between his legs if Ogata sensed he was enjoying this too much. Sugimoto didn’t think his heart could take it.

He had expected more resistance from the man. A snide remark about patience. Refusal until Sugimoto asked him nicely. But it hadn’t come. Instead, Sugimoto was biting his tongue, the sweat already condensing on his brow as heat pooled in his gut. 

He hadn’t noticed he’d been breathing so shallowly. 

“F-fuck,” Sugimoto groaned, hips rolling of their own accord with the rhythm of Ogata’s tongue. He hadn’t had much experience with… men. With this. But there was something about the way Ogata dug into him, made his toes curl with lust that made Sugimoto wonder if anyone else could get his blood boiling quite as hot. 

“Bastard, at least… let me…” was all he managed to rasp, his head too clouded for anything resembling coherence. Let him what? Prepare? Hadn’t he been the one who was so eager for Ogata to suck him off? But no, he wasn’t prepared. Not at all for the way Ogata’s eyes bore into him, lips slick with spit and cheeks that hollowed with every pull of Sugimoto’s hips. Having Ogata like this was enough to make him lose all sense of self control. To make him hungry. 

Sugimoto’s fingers tangled themselves between the sleek, dark strands of Ogata’s hair, and pulled. He didn’t care if it hurt him. Knew Ogata could take it. Would enjoy it, even. For all the pain Ogata inflicted, Sugimoto would return it in kind, because that was the nature of things between them. What felt right, as he thrust hard into Ogata’s throat. 

Love and pain. Give and take. Slowly, Sugimoto felt as if he was forgetting the difference.

[haisugi]

yearnedfears​:

It was often that men tended to each other’s wounds. On the battlefield, or during the trip across the cold ocean. In the belly of the ship, men played cards, while others replaced bandages to avoid infection. How pointless it’d be to die in the middle of nowhere, so close to the ordinary life they’d left behind months ago, before sieges and bombs had stolen so much from them.

Ogata wasn’t strange to the sight of torn limbs, open tissue, or the smell of antiseptics filling in his nostrils. When His eyes fell on Sugimoto’s chest, his lids merely stayed put like stone. The patchwork of skin fighting hard to remain together proved what everyone knew already: this man was immortal. Or so they said. Ogata didn’t believe the bluff one bit, though the stories amused him. He was more interested in the man that bore that name.

Sugimoto’s hands stopped by the third button. Ogata had been caught watching. He didn’t bother to pretend otherwise, so he roamed his eyes across Sugimoto’s body one more time, brazenly, before he drew himself closer. “That’s a bad one.”

“Using your body as bait? I would’ve expected someone from the First Division knew better than to risk getting impaled before he can land a punch properly.” The bite in his words lacken true poison. It was a hoax, in part. He reached out to wrench Sugimoto’s hand away and replace the careful tending with a strong push. Two fingers buried into the wound, eliciting a groan from Sugimoto’s mouth. Pain, then calmness. It was no use to aim for a deadly touch right from the start. Ogata’s grip on Sugimoto’s chest loosened, his palm positioned itself in the middle, to press Sugimoto closer to the floor. Like Ogata expected, he didn’t bulge.

Not for long. Ogata’s remaining hand snaked its way up Sugimoto’s thigh, where he stayed. Stationary; an open invitation. Would Sugimoto take it? The answer was obvious, considering the tautness in his breath, still like mountain snow.

“I didn’t get a good look at it before. Show me.”

@haisugi

With an irritated tsk, Sugimoto aimed a weak kick at Ogata’s ribs. Ogata’s forcefulness had caught him by surprise, his back hitting the floor with a solid thud that reminded him of the soreness that cut him to the bone. He’d had worse, of course. Much worse. But time had given him the sense that it was his moral duty to give Ogata a hard time whenever he was able. “You be careful,” he grumbled, meeting the other man’s gaze with a stubborn furrow of his brow. “At least pretend to be gentle. You’re not the one with a hole in his chest.”

He would be lying if he said his heart didn’t flutter a bit at the sight of Ogata poised between his legs. Any other man might have been able to excuse it away with blood loss or post-battle delirium, but his remarkable tolerance for injury made that difficult, to say the least. No - the flush that rose to his cheeks was Ogata’s, and Ogata’s alone.

“Unless you’re trying to kill me. I thought one cannibal was too many. Now I have to worry about you sizing me up for food, too.” Sugimoto’s eyes traced fragile lines over the sharp curve of Ogata’s jaw, down his throat to where a hint of his collarbone was visible through the open button of his shirt. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he swallowed thickly. If it was like this, then Sugimoto might not mind letting Ogata devour him. There were worse ways to lose himself than to the intoxicating rhythm of Ogata’s mouth.

Sugimoto willed himself to remain steady as eager hands slid down to his waistband. His fingers clamored against the fabric, clumsy in their haste to undo the fastenings between them. Bad. He was already half hard; as if Ogata needed more ammo against him. “Whatever you’re going to do, hurry up and do it,” he hissed. “I don’t want to stare at your ugly face all night.”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears​:

Standing at the brink of consciousness, Ogata absorbed Sugimoto’s words in bits and pieces. A stolen life, dreams of violence, blood… It was all familiar by now. Ogata remembered having heard confessions like this before, though he couldn’t exactly place when or where. Memories came in a flash, and before he could snatch any of them, darkness engulfed him. He was dancing on the rope, with Sugimoto’s warmth keeping him half-pressed to the world, and the other half, trying in vain to grab the thin air at the other side. He inhaled sharply through his nose, felt the metallic aftertaste fill his lungs.

“Run… where? You found me once. I don’t like being chased.” It was all a lie.

The long weeks that followed his departure from Hokkaido were the most alive he’d felt in a long time. A similar rush weaved through his system when he fled the 7th Division’s quarters, right under First Lieutenant Tsurumi’s nose. But Russia was different. Thrills that he didn’t imagine himself capable of feeling invaded his sleep, promises that Sugimoto would appear when he least expected it and the battle would begin, were like a lullaby sending him to sleep. 

Sometimes, Ogata managed to bury his bayonet deep in Sugimoto’s guts. Sometimes, it was the opposite. On the best days, Ogata would get a clean shot between his eyebrows, and it was only then when he’d allow himself a close view. Silent appreciation, like he hadn’t been able to do in Abashiri.

His fingers would find themselves tracing Sugimoto’s nose, his jaw, that deep scar slicing his features like a demon mask. And then… then… Ogata would bend down and closer, and his tongue would follow that pattern - the tip would travel south, covering the line that crossed Sugimoto’s lips with damp bites. He’d wake up after that, haunted by the lingering taste of Sugimoto’s blood in his mouth.

Ogata tried to keep those dreams at bay; tried to mend the slippery thoughts of a hunger he thought abandoned in the prison’s fire. Hunger of that kind, Ogata realized, was impossible to quell. All that you could do was kill the beast.

But which one of them was the beast? Who was the prey? Ogata smiled at the question and glanced up at Sugimoto’s face. He was the same as always. Maybe a new scar, piercing his cheek. It was small and nearly shadowed by the night. Ogata tried to laugh everything off, but couldn’t. Pain had grown stronger, until his wounds became numb. If he made any sort of expression, only Sugimoto would be able to tell. He assumed he must have given something away, because Sugimoto hadn’t left. Ogata darted out his tongue to wet his upper lip.

“You’re too confident. Is it because they say you’re immortal? No one’s immortal, Sugimoto. You’re just lucky. But luck runs out eventually. You can’t keep that going on forever.”

Sugimoto’s brow contorted into a disdainful frown. Or maybe it was despair, painted on his face. What had he expected to hear? I’m sorry? Forgive me? Of course it was a pipe dream - one Sugimoto had been foolish enough to hope for in the first place. Had he been hoping for it? He could hardly tell anymore, as shattered as his feelings were by the deafening crack of the sniper’s rifle. Ogata would no sooner say he was sorry than a fox would apologize for hunting a rabbit. That was just the way things were, as far as the natural order was concerned. Both of them clung to violence for survival because it was all they knew; all they had. It had taken Sugimoto until now to understand this, and yet…

He clenched his fist around the lapel of Ogata’s coat, jaw tight as it hovered only inches away from the lips he used to chase so tenderly before he tore himself away in disgust.

“Prove it, then,” he spat. “You tried killing me once already, and look where that got you. I’m still here, and you’re half dead. Funny how that worked out, isn’t it?” Sugimoto knew the bitterness in his voice was palpable, cutting through the silence of the night like a dull blade. He wanted his words to hurt where his hands couldn’t. If he dug his fingers into Ogata’s skull, would he scream? He hadn’t made a sound when Sugimoto took a blade to his eye. And their first meeting - how long ago that seemed now - had ended much the same, surrounded by an unnatural stillness as Sugimoto broke and battered him against the snow. 

He wondered if Ogata hurt, like he did. Wondered if the man could feel anything at all.

Even now, Ogata should have been in too much pain to think, let alone berate him over useless shit. For a fleeting moment, Sugimoto admired his resilience, as infuriating as it was. A flick of his wrist and the bloody rag was tossed aside, freeing his hands to cradle Ogata’s head like it was something delicate. Which he did, for some reason. He couldn’t stop himself.  

“Pulling the trigger. Was it easy?” He breathed slowly through the quiet, eyes shadowed by the brim of his hat as the dull glow of the lamps flickered about the room. The way the light of the flames danced across Ogata’s skin made him look hollower than before. “Did you ever think… Maybe there was another way?”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears​:

It was often that men tended to each other’s wounds. On the battlefield, or during the trip across the cold ocean. In the belly of the ship, men played cards, while others replaced bandages to avoid infection. How pointless it’d be to die in the middle of nowhere, so close to the ordinary life they’d left behind months ago, before sieges and bombs had stolen so much from them.

Ogata wasn’t strange to the sight of torn limbs, open tissue, or the smell of antiseptics filling in his nostrils. When His eyes fell on Sugimoto’s chest, his lids merely stayed put like stone. The patchwork of skin fighting hard to remain together proved what everyone knew already: this man was immortal. Or so they said. Ogata didn’t believe the bluff one bit, though the stories amused him. He was more interested in the man that bore that name.

Sugimoto’s hands stopped by the third button. Ogata had been caught watching. He didn’t bother to pretend otherwise, so he roamed his eyes across Sugimoto’s body one more time, brazenly, before he drew himself closer. “That’s a bad one.”

“Using your body as bait? I would’ve expected someone from the First Division knew better than to risk getting impaled before he can land a punch properly.” The bite in his words lacken true poison. It was a hoax, in part. He reached out to wrench Sugimoto’s hand away and replace the careful tending with a strong push. Two fingers buried into the wound, eliciting a groan from Sugimoto’s mouth. Pain, then calmness. It was no use to aim for a deadly touch right from the start. Ogata’s grip on Sugimoto’s chest loosened, his palm positioned itself in the middle, to press Sugimoto closer to the floor. Like Ogata expected, he didn’t bulge.

Not for long. Ogata’s remaining hand snaked its way up Sugimoto’s thigh, where he stayed. Stationary; an open invitation. Would Sugimoto take it? The answer was obvious, considering the tautness in his breath, still like mountain snow.

“I didn’t get a good look at it before. Show me.”

@haisugi

“Will you ever learn to say please like a normal person?”

There had been a white-hot pain as Ogata dug his slender fingers into the wound on Sugimoto’s chest, making his head swim with an odd apprehension that surprised the more rational side of himself. It was funny, the way he’d grown so accustomed to hurt. His body tensed as if by reflex, muscles coiled and ready to greet the new threat with violence if necessary. 

Of course, it was only instinct. Whatever threat Ogata posed to him here and now wasn’t to his life. Probably.

There was a long moment where Sugimoto found he couldn’t think, torn between the overwhelming urge to fight and being lost in the haze of confusion that Ogata so often stirred in him. First pain, and then a tender touch against his thigh. What gave the man more pleasure, he wondered? Was it the agonized grimace on his face, or the way his pulse quickened against his rib cage when the fog cleared and he finally understood Ogata’s intentions? He was sure to feel it, fingers so close to Sugimoto’s heart in all their cruelty. 

He frowned and breathed a sigh through his nose, averting his gaze as his own hands made slow work of the buttons on his shirt. “Fine. Do you get off on this kind of thing? Should I lose a limb for you next?” The words were meant to sting, but he somehow doubted they’d serve their intended purpose. After all, he could hardly deny the thrill he felt whenever he was the object of Ogata’s attention. What was a little blood spilled, if it meant he could have him to himself? 

Sugimoto wrenched the final button free from the hem of his shirt, letting the fabric drape loose against his sides. Months ago, he might have been hesitant to expose so much of himself so quickly, but Ogata always made him crave indecent things. He met the hand against his thigh with his own, hoisting himself up on his elbows to cast a breath against the crook of Ogata’s neck. “Don’t tell me you’re actually concerned. I think I’d know you better than that by now.”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

“Do I look like a gambler to you, Sugimoto?”

This… well, the conversation between Sugimoto and himself had taken an amusing turn. Neither guilt or bashfulness were words that commonly crossed his mind, so the thought that maybe Sugimoto would be clever enough to understand the true nature of his plans with Wakamaya didn’t elicit a negative response in Boutarou.

Hesitance stems from that sort of feelings, and Boutarou concluded they were fruitless on the long run, if he wanted to secure a place in this gold hunt. Playing fair and square was not his style, either. He exhaled with a shrug.

Sugimoto could mean to use the information as a weapon, but men like him weren’t the strategist type. When planning needed to be done, there were minds who filled in the role, and the ones that didn’t, offered their hands to do the killing. One glance at Sugimoto’s body and Boutarou could tell, by the way marred skin kept the score, that he fell in the first category. Boutarou’s head tipped to the side.

“You’re right about that. I approached him as a prostitute, and it worked for the most part. That man found us. We were supposed to be alone at the inn, but I guess not many of his men can keep their mouths shut. Ah, doesn’t matter now."  He dismissed the observation, waving his hand flippantly.

“I guess I was lucky that he let me go, or should I owe that to Nopperabou? For making an impossible code to read, that is.”

“O-oh, I see...“

The air felt warmer, suddenly. Much warmer. Sugimoto couldn’t help but nervously shift in his seat, his fingers flexing as he cast a sidelong glance in the pirate’s direction. He supposed it wasn’t too hard to imagine someone with the charisma and enthusiasm that he had charming his way into the arms of a dangerous man. He was slender, but strong, with an all too soul piercing gaze that some might find easy to get lost in. If he’d wanted to...

Well, the body itself could be a powerful weapon.

“Whatever gets the job done, I guess. I know he was... I mean - I’m just surprised you were his type, is all. His tastes seemed less... uhh... less...”

Attractive, was what he wanted to say, but Sugimoto had just enough sense left in him to bite his tongue. It never paid to get too familiar.

“Y’know, never mind. Not like I really knew the man enough to judge him anyways. As far as owing Nopperabou, not sure that I’d feel obligated. We all could have avoided a whole lot of Hell if not for him.”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

“Ah! Boss Wakayama!” He didn’t bother to subdue the subtle glimmer in his expression, in response to a familiar name. In truth, it was the second time the name was brought to the conversation, and like every other time, Boutarou couldn’t help but reminisce their sweet encounter. A brief laugh passed in-between words.

“Did you make a copy of his tattoo, or did you kill him? No point asking that, is there? I can tell by your expression that it was the latter.” 

“Maybe it’s not conventional, but I approached him in the most efficient way I could think of. He was a handful. I would’ve come back for his skin if I hadn’t been surrounded by so many of his men and… Let’s say it would’ve been too high a risk, with his close friend present. I wouldn’t push my luck a second time.”

“His close friend... ahh, you mean the one with the gross nipples? I would have let you drown if I’d known you’d make me remember that.”

The glow of the campfire was warm against his skin. It was still damp, he noticed, watching the way the light danced just ever so slightly different against the moisture that clung to his hair.

Strange. He was less tense than usual. Substantially less tense than he should have been, seated beside a man who tried to kill him not hours before. It wasn’t the oddest thing that had happened - in fact, he often found himself in less than friendly company. But there was an ease behind Boutarou’s laugh, so simple and full of confidence that Sugimoto found himself... nostalgic, perhaps.

“I’m surprised a man like you couldn’t handle him. I got the impression he was only a threat to gamblers and prostitutes who dabbled with his boss.”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

   “Watch your back… It’s troublesome, but I understand the feeling. For as long as I have this tattoo covering my body, there’ll be nothing close to a good night’s rest.”

   “I did say that I liked strong men like you. After seeing what you’re capable of, it would be a waste to try and get rid of you—and a bad decision on my part. Of course, I doubt it would come easily.”

   It happened swiftly. His fingers threaded the dark bangs still wet from their dive into the river. Eyes downcast to the roughly split ends, Boutarou continued, amused: “…And there’s the matter that you saved me. You’re a man full of surprises.”

“Mhmm... Might’ve surprised myself a bit, too.”

This was the second time, now, that Boutarou’s words had put him oddly... at ease. Which, simply by the nature of the feeling, also put him on edge. His emotions didn’t quite know what to do with themselves, caught in a back and forth struggle not quite unlike the brief spurts of violence that seemed to keep erupting between the two of them. This man was dangerous; that much was hard to deny. But he’d met more dangerous men with less... charming smiles.

“... I met that man, you know. Wakayama. He seemed decent, all things considered. Showed me that I don’t like seeing things go to waste either. Guess you and I aren’t so different in that regard.”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

    “That’s a pretty deep wound you got there, Sugimoto.”

    “You’re a strong man. Shiraishi told me they call you Immortal. By the looks of your body, I’d say it’s a fitting name for someone who doesn’t go down when pierced in the skull by a bullet. I wonder what kind of man was able to make that shot… I doubt that with your strength, anyone would come close enough to make it a direct hit.”

@haisugi​

“He’s... Just another monster.”

“Anyways, it doesn’t matter. It’s not the first time I’ve had a brush with death, and it won’t be the last. They don’t call me Sugimoto the Immortal for nothing. It might do you some good to remember that, Pirate, in case you feel the need to try your luck again. I’m not too fond of having to watch my back.”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

When the rat poison had effectively thrown his mother’s body back into a convulsion, Ogata’s grandparents tried to make her throw up everything. He remembered the sounds of a strained throat, her nails scratching the tatami. It was all in vain, she was dead in no time. The part of him that knew it’d only been a few seconds before its inevitable conclusion also believed the moment had stretched out for longer than that. Death did always strike faster than life.

Ogata could only wonder what it’d felt like for his mother to eat venom-infused nabe, or if she’d recognized the taste and ate it anyway. Perceiving small details like this wasn’t hard, not for an eye like his. Yet, no matter how hard Ogata pushed his memory, he couldn’t find an answer; it would have remained the only thing he didn’t understand.

Sugimoto tried to suck up poison out of Ogata’s body, though his hands were rougher and unerring, like his grandmother’s weren’t. The poison burned, now he had an answer for the haunting question. In the wake of obtaining that knowledge, dark confusion wrenched Ogata’s senses as the last bits of the world faded away: Sugimoto, of all men, saved him.

The leather of Sugimoto’s gloves creaked as he flexed his fingers. Ogata’s eye blinked open. 

Like being shoved underwater, Ogata saw everything through a thin film, blurred edges and imperfect lightning that made him nauseous. But the strongest feeling was the pressure of something warm beneath the back of his head. 

A pillow? No, it was sturdier, unbalanced, too. Sugimoto’s words came next, almost like a whisper, but his voice, Ogata knew, lacked the quality of a secret. Ogata’s consciousness drifted in and out, so the words hung somewhere in-between, that he wasn’t able able to make full sentences out of it. Scattered words, followed by familiar vibrations on his left cheek.

Ogata realized, belatedly, that he was resting on top of Sugimoto’s legs.

“Run…” he repeated, forcing himself to remain lucid—Ogata felt Sugimoto stop the ministrations, sit perfectly still. “You’d like that… Killing prey that puts up a fight.”

It’s boring otherwise. He couldn’t say.

His body felt the aftershocks of losing an important component, the thrill that only comes from having made it out of a battle. He’d felt it back at the Siege, and at 203 Hill; when he crawled out of that cold river, or now, leveling his respiration so blood wouldn’t obstruct his lungs. It was with effort that Ogata registered what he was doing: he’d pressed his forehead against Sugimoto’s palm. What he believed was warmth coming from the bandages, belonged to the heel of Sugimoto’s hand fitting Ogata’s face like a cupped bird. Bile rose up to his throat. He didn’t move.

Ogata tore his gaze away from the hand, returning his attention to Sugimoto’s face. His eyes were shadowed by the night. “…Think I wouldn’t have gotten a bullet through your skull a second time before you gouged my eyes out? I can fight back now. Why not go for it, Sugimoto?”

That voice.

It had been… many months since Sugimoto heard it last. The sound of it was an unholy union of familiar and strange; a sordid rasp that invaded his ears and made his hands come to a halt in his lap. Ogata. Ogata. Everything about the man came with a cost. Craving the sound of that voice had made Sugimoto careless when it counted. Even now, as Ogata leaned into his touch, as he murmured his name, Sugimoto felt an emptiness in his chest that hadn’t been there before the first time they laid together under the stars.

He didn’t realize his hands were trembling until the bandages slipped out of his grasp.

He was no stranger to the sickening sight of an open wound. He’d patched up a man or two at 203 Hill, and when Toraji… Well, after they’d come under fire, Sugimoto had spent many a night tormented by the sight of flayed tendons and the musty stench of iron on cotton uniforms. But there was something about the hollowness of Ogata’s stare - the void where his eyes had once appraised him with so much skepticism - that left Sugimoto feeling unusually disturbed. It was the first time he’d gotten a good look at the damage since he’d gouged his eye from his head. There was a wrongness there, so profound that it made his stomach lurch at the sight.

“Shut up, or I’ll cut out your tongue and make you.” Sugimoto inhaled sharply through his nose, composing himself just long enough to bundle up the dirty cloth and toss it aside. He couldn’t bring himself to stare for longer than a moment, though he could feel Ogata’s eye glaring up at him through the dull lamplight. It didn’t matter if Ogata hated him. Not now, after the damage had been done. Not even before, when Sugimoto had still foolishly harbored a small hope that they could be something more, when all of this was over. He knew this, and yet the weight of that gaze…

It was heavy.

“Or are you asking me to slit your throat? Because that won’t happen.” He collected the damp rag from a bucket at his side, borrowed from a villager that had been sympathetic enough to lend him supplies. They had little of their own to spare; even less to spare for a traitor. And yet, Sugimoto watched solemnly as droplets of warm water pooled across Ogata’s skin, collecting blood that he wiped away with a gentleness he hadn’t thought himself capable of.

“S’pose that makes you right, this time. Killing you now would be too easy. Want to know what helped me sleep at night, while you were gone?” The hand against Ogata’s face had found itself drifting hesitantly across the man’s features, tracing familiar lines down to the dip of his collarbone, up to the sharp rise of his scars against his cheek. It felt as natural as it always had, and Ogata was warm against the chill of the night air. “It was the thought of finally being able to rip your heart out of your chest. I thought of a thousand ways to watch you die, but now you’ve stolen that too. You’ve stolen a lot of things from me.”

He was angry. Sick with the feeling. When that bullet buried itself in his head, Sugimoto had thought he’d finally be free of whatever naive sense of yearning his foolish heart still clung to. But of course it wasn’t that simple. It was never that simple, with Ogata. He still felt weak as he threaded his fingers through Ogata’s hair. Still felt his heart rail against his ribcage as he leaned down to press his lips ever so slightly to Ogata’s temple.

“No, I’ll kill you when you’re yourself again. Might even let you go first, for the chase. I’m not a patient man, Ogata. But I’ll be patient for you.”

[haisugi]

War taught Sugimoto how to deal with pain.

You Scream. You Fight. When your legs don’t work, you drag your useless body across the ground until you find somebody who can make them. A swig of alcohol, a needle and thread, a tourniquet. Morphine, for the wounds that should have killed you, but didn’t, as if that small show of mercy could make the battlefield more bearable. Adrenaline for the pain that has no relief.

The list went on.

He could still feel it during those cold mornings in the mountains, when the ache of his old wounds would wake him before dawn. An old friend, it seemed, unwelcome as it was amidst the maelstrom that his life had become. Pain never really went away, he’d learned. You simply just… managed.

But this was different.

There was a hollowness in Sugimoto’s chest that he couldn’t shake. He felt it when Ogata’s bullet pierced his skull at Abashiri. He felt it when he tasted Ogata’s blood on his tongue, the tang of iron overwhelming his senses for many hours after they wandered off the ice floes. He felt it now, cradling Ogata’s head in his lap, staring at the red stain that bloomed across his bandages like a lilly in summer. It made him sick.

It was an unfamiliar hurt - anger, pity, and yearning consuming him with uncertainty. He despised this man, wanted to wring his neck and watch the life drain from his already pale face. But he also…

Was it right to say he missed him? Certainly not, but… He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the man’s resting features. Ogata’s lips were parted and chapped, his breath shallow but steady, chest rising and falling at an almost hypnotic tempo that Sugimoto found he could hardly stand to watch.

Do us all a favor and stop breathing, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. Instead his fingers found their way to the base of Ogata’s jaw, holding his head firmly in place as his free hand made hesitant work of the cloth covering his eyes.

“You should have run,” he murmured. To himself, to Ogata, or to no-one. He didn’t know, anymore. “I would have chased you to the ends of the earth, but you should have…”

A sigh, then.

“Ahh… but it doesn’t matter, does it? Look at us. It would have ended like this either way. We didn’t have a choice, did we?”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

“You’ve thought about killing me before, haven’t you? How did it feel?”

Ogata kept pushing forward, seemingly content with testing the limits of his own luck. Sugimoto didn’t look the type who would take part in the game. It felt like a one-sided gamble, one that Ogata wasn’t certain he could win something from that was worth showing off. But the look in Sugimoto’s eyes was enticing enough to keep him going. Ogata’s tongue flitted out to wet his lower lip. He savored the heat that came from Sugimoto’s body.

“I don’t think even you realize how dangerous a game you’re playing. Who knows how much longer they’ll let you have your own way before you become a liability to their heroic battle and decide your time’s up.” Ogata felt his breath touch Sugimoto’s face with every word that left his mouth. The firm grip around his body told Ogata better than words where Sugimoto stood in all this. Perhaps it was careless to dangle bait with Sugimoto standing this close to him. Ogata knew very well how sharp his claws were.

He couldn’t step back. He didn’t want to give Sugimoto the wrong idea. It would make him believe that he had the upper hand, when it was Ogata who chose whether he lived to see another day or not. He wanted to be the one to prove that Sugimoto was no different than any other soldier. It wasn’t that bullets couldn’t bring him down, Sugimoto had simply not been Ogata’s target before. But now… 

Ogata fit his palm along the crook of Sugimoto’s shoulder, keeping enough pressure to ground him in place. “Does marrying your sweetheart sound boring now that you’ve had a taste of this bloodbath?”

“Don’t...”

Sugimoto recalled something, just then. The way he clung to Ogata’s wrist beneath the trees felt familiar; or, more precisely, exactly the way it had been the day they’d met, when Sugimoto snapped the other man’s arm in two and pressed a knife to his throat. They hadn’t known each other, then. The rush of adrenaline that Sugimoto felt had bordered on euphoric. It always did, when he was preparing to take a man’s life. Had Asirpa not been there, well...

Ogata was right. Ogata was always right. Sugimoto had thought about how it would feel to wring the man’s neck. Some more desperate part of himself was considering it now.

“Don’t you dare bring her into this. That’s got nothing to do with us.” A strange feeling coiled in his chest. Melancholy, or anger. Sugimoto couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but his grip tightened sharply regardless as he shoved Ogata back against the trunk of the tree behind them.

The leaves rattled overhead.

He’d always imagined that his wedding would take place in the fall, when the trees changed colors and the crisp autumn air would form dewdrops on his window in the morning. He’d turned the thought over in his mind, on an endless loop like a broken record, until death crept suddenly through his doorway and he watched that very same window go up in flames. His thoughts were mostly of blood, after that.

Umeko. Umeko... He hadn’t realized it until now, but he couldn’t quite remember the face of the woman he’d always pictured standing beside him at the shrine.

“And what the hell would you know about it anyways?” He growled, feeling his muscles tense beneath the surface of his skin. Somehow, he knew, Ogata was seeking ammunition to use against him. Perhaps that was why his words had pierced so deep. “You’re doing this for- what? Status? You’ve been dodging the question all day, so I don’t know what else I’m supposed to think. At least I’m... trying to do something good. What the hell does it matter how much blood I spill if it’s for her?”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

Ogata’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. So this was the kind of talk he wanted.

“I don’t know, Sugimoto. Haven’t you figured out the whole map by yourself already?” Ogata’s patience was running thin. If Sugimoto couldn’t take no for an answer, then there was no use in continuing using the same methods. Deflection didn’t seem like the better choice, if the hard set of Sugimoto’s eyebrows was any indication. Ogata would prefer saving up the violence for the times where it would be needed.

Ogata held Sugimoto’s stare for a moment longer, before his eyes darted between the grip around his wrist and the way the upper row of Sugimoto’s teeth chewed at his lower lip, clearly a second away from bursting into flames. He was probably unaware of it, but the vision was amusing enough to make the smile on Ogata’s face fade into something more dangerous. After the gesture, Sugimoto really started to move. Ogata followed the tension travelling from the fingers keeping Ogata’s arm in place, to the muscles running under the tender flesh of Sugimoto’s jawline. Ogata blinked slowly, assessing. 

It couldn’t mean good news to either of them that Sugimoto was beginning to sway closer to forcefulness than passivity, but when had any part of Sugimoto been passive? Ogata doubted he would come out of this battle clean, given the circumstances. Maybe if he narrowed the distance… Only that would gain him to show off, so he went for it.

“Why does it matter, anyway? Surely, you’re not expecting me to say that I’ll watch your back, of all things. I’d be disappointed if the whole Immortal thing was just an act.” He injected his words with the right amount of poison to keep Sugimoto’s attention fixed on his face, rather than the first couple of steps he took forward. Ogata yanked his hand back and in the motion, he made sure to bring Sugimoto closer in. That got him in a more favorable stance, judging by how Sugimoto’s pupils were blown wide; expectant.

They had enough leeway outside in the wilderness than they would at the kotan, where everyone else was gathered at the moment. They wouldn’t be missed for some time. When Sugimoto approached, Ogata hadn’t had this in mind. As things stood now, Ogata could imagine all it would take to divert Sugimoto’s attention was to give him something else to take a bite of. If he choked on the mouthfuls, then it would be his own problem to solve. He could afford this. “Is that really everything you came here for, Sugimoto?”

Sugimoto was astonished by the speed at which his breath caught in his throat. This song and dance that they’d been doing with each other had gone back and forth for what seemed like an eternity, Ogata so often spinning circles around him that it left Sugimoto’s head swimming with nervous apprehension. He didn’t like feeling so disarmed, barely standing on his own two feet whenever that cold stare caught his gaze. It felt... unsafe. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” he leered, though there was no more than a moment’s hesitation before his free hand found its way to the small of Ogata’s back, snaking its way beneath the fabric of his heavy cloak to rest tentatively against his spine. “‘Yes’ or ‘no,’ Ogata? With all the bullshit you spew, I’m sure you can manage one word.” 

There was a part of him that knew the only one he could trust in this mess of a gold hunt was himself. Ogata had spoken one truth, at least: ‘are you really trying to tell me you all trust each other?’ Sugimoto didn’t. He couldn’t, for Asirpa’s sake. As desperate as he was for something different, Sugimoto knew exactly who he needed to count among his enemies.

Perhaps that was the reason for the dull ache in his chest that had started to bloom as soon as he’d left the guard’s quarters. Sugimoto had managed to bury his suspicions, somehow, pretending for the longest time that whatever this thing was between them could be enough. The fantasy that everything would be perfect, that they would find Noppera-bou and escape from Abashiri together, had started to crumble the moment he remembered that Ogata was just as selfish as the rest of them.

He let his lips fall towards the curve of Ogata’s neck as his fist clenched tightly at the fabric beneath his fingertips, just enough to yank the man’s body flush against his own. At the very least, he could savor this; the one thing he could take from Ogata that didn’t feel like a lie. “You scared of something?” He murmured. “Think I’m gonna kill you if I find out?”

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

Ogata didn’t feel the need to give Sugimoto a response. He would have waited it out, if Sugimoto hadn’t been so persistent in getting something, anything, out of him. “What good does it do to you to know? So you have something to spit out later? Sorry to disappoint you, Sugimoto, but nothing I say is worth the bother.”

From his place on the tree-branch, Ogata couldn’t make out the expression Sugimoto was wearing. His face was covered by the brim of his hat, leaving nearly nothing but the dip of his jaw for Ogata’s eyes to lay on. If he were closer, maybe Ogata could have directed this conversation elsewhere, to a place where he wouldn’t be a target for pointless curiosity. Only Sugimoto cared about that kind of things, this far into the game.

He care to wait for Sugimoto’s response, promptly resuming his watch over the treeline a kilometer away from them. At the end of the forest, there was a clearance that only stopped at the walls of Abashiri prison. It occurred to Ogata that maybe Sugimoto was trying to get a better read of Ogata, as if that would help him in any way. There was nothing Ogata had to give. Even if there was anything, he wouldn’t simply hand it over for Sugimoto’s pleasure. Not the bits and pieces he wanted, anyway. Ogata scanned the horizon for the second time, finding no signs of any guards roaming around. They were alone, the two of them.

Ogata cast a sideways glance at Sugimoto, who at some point in the past minutes came to rest against the tree Ogata had climbed on. He was now looking directly at Ogata through the branches. “What? Not the answer you expected?”

He couldn’t possibly be thinking their past encounters had gained him a thing. Sugimoto seemed to think too highly of himself, after the few times they’ve taken each other. It didn’t mean anything, however much Sugimoto wanted to make it matter. Ogata jumped off the branch and landed a couple steps away from Sugimoto. For all Ogata offered, it could have been an ambush, and Sugimoto didn’t move an inch from his place. He watched Ogata in silence and with quiet determination. He truly was a stubborn, and stupid.

Ogata’s mouth twisted into a humorless smile, his eyes looked Sugimoto up and down. It was obvious Sugimoto had rolled these thoughts in his mind for a while, and just now did he bring it up. If he was expecting for Ogata to be honest, then Sugimoto was too damn good at tricking himself with his own lies. Ogata’s feet took him closer to where Sugimoto stood, until he could reach out and bury his trigger finger into the hollow space of his collarbone, where he would have preferred it to be his bayonet. Sugimoto looked better with blood on his face than he did under the sunlight. “I don’t trust you either, Sugimoto, so there’s no need to worry about that.”

“Look, I’m not trying to pick a fight with you, asshole. I’m just saying its strange.”

Sugimoto sighed deeply through his nose. It was hard not to let the irritation flare in his gut at the bite in Ogata’s words, as familiar to him now as the palm of the man’s hand against his chest. He’d always imagined that there would be no sense in prying; that it was in Ogata’s nature to snap at his fingertips whenever Sugimoto extended a hand. Were Ogata a normal man, Sugimoto might have considered tossing him to the ground and twisting his arm until he coughed up some answers. But Ogata was not normal, and Sugimoto had enough sense in him to know when something was pointless.

He snatched Ogata’s hand out of the air nonetheless, clenching his fingers around the man’s wrist tightly, as if he could hold him in place. Could keep him from turning his back.

“You know,” he hissed firmly, “you could really stand to make some friends. One of these days this whole ‘I don’t give a shit’ act is going to bite you in the ass. Do you really think you’re better off for it? Who’s going to watch your back when you’ve got a knife to your throat?”

How do I know you won’t put one to mine, he wanted to say. Wanted to, but didn’t. He knew he wasn’t prepared for the answer.

“You can’t be so tight-lipped and expect people to put their faith in you, Ogata. Even I know that. I’m not asking for your life story, I just... What Hijikata suggested. It’s not something I need to be worried about, is it?”

[haisugi]

“I don’t know anything about you.”

The hills were quiet. Sugimoto thought he might go mad, hearing nothing but the sound of his footsteps or the crack of a twig as Ogata brushed branches aside. He was reminded of the hours before a storm, when an eerie silence blanketed the air before being drowned out by torrential rain. A breeze cut through the trees on occasion, sending a chill through his core that he patted away with frigid hands. 

He thought he’d sensed a tension in Ogata’s shoulders; hard set in a firm line that carried through to his fingertips as he clutched at the strap of his rifle. Thought he’d seen it, but it might have been a trick of the light. Or maybe his own nerves were getting the better of him. 

“You know, we’ve been together all this time, but I don’t think we’ve ever talked.” 

And really, they hadn’t. Sugimoto had spent a long while pondering Hijikata’s words. He’d had some inkling of Ogata’s clouded history from what little gossip he’d heard, but he’d never been the sort to pay that sort of thing any mind. He’d never bothered asking, either. 

There was a small part of him, he supposed, that was afraid of what he would hear if he did.

“I don’t know why you’re here. Don’t even know where you’re from. You’re a hard man to trust, Ogata. I’m sure you know that.”

@yearnedfears

[haisugi]

yearnedfears‌:

‘ well, Sugimoto? will you get on with it, or do I have to spell it out for you? ’

Sugimoto’s grip on his wrist was constricting, holding Ogata in place. he could have aimed for a front blow, using the front of his head, made Sugimoto spill a bit of blood for him. but he didn’t. with the thought held in the air, dissipating in their shared breaths, Ogata leaned forward. his other free hand took a hold of Sugimoto’s jaw, firm and unforgiving. he let their bodies press against each other, encouraging but without commitment. a deceiving promise, at best. he could see Sugimoto’s windpipe move as he swallowed, crawling under the hardened skin. his lips trailed the line of Sugimoto’s facial scars, starting with the sharp cut at the corner of his mouth. 

where he’d gotten these scars, Ogata didn’t know. he couldn’t track their origins, but he could imagine how it went. in vivid detail, he could see the sharp blade of bayonets slicing through tender skin; the Sugimoto in his mind didn’t bulge, didn’t stop his marching forward, coated in blood that wasn’t likely his own. Ogata couldn’t help the smile that appeared on his face, his hushed breaths crashing against Sugiimoto’s jaw, the starting line from his hair, the dip of his nose….

‘ does this tell you anything? ’ Ogata whispered, baring his teeth at Sugimoto’s dumbfounded expression. Ogata would call him naive, for wanting to be kissed this badly. however, that was not the case, this time. his mouth soon found its place fitting into Sugimoto’s parted lips. he could almost taste the hard beating of Sugimoto’s heart, the grumbles escaping his chest in solid vibrations. Ogata smiled against Sugimoto’s face, not quite breaking away from the kiss.  ‘ come on, do it like you meant it. ’

@haisugi

Ogata. Was. Infuriating.

Sugimoto could feel the trembling of his hand against Ogata’s wrist, helpless beneath the tender warmth of his skin that Ogata seemed to wield like a weapon against him. It was tactical, Sugimoto was certain; a perfectly timed ploy to make him forget his frustration, or at least put it to use in the way that Ogata wanted oh so dearly. The wildcat was a strategist, cold and calculating and dangerous. Sugimoto knew this, and yet he let himself fall for the man’s scheming every damn time. 

This time was the same as all the rest, as he practically melted into Ogata’s touch like snow on the tongue.

Sugimoto thought of all the kisses he thought he’d been saving for Umeko. Thought of the tenderness of it all, the familiarity that he’d longed for so deeply that he’d gone halfway to Hell in search of it. Instead, he’d found Ogata. The kisses that he’d thought had been for the woman he loved had been stolen from his lips, mutilated and twisted into something much more bitter, savage, and untamed. He wondered... would a kiss so soft even satisfy him now?

The conflict broiled in Sugimoto’s gut. No. That tenderness - he still wanted it, somehow. Needed it, even if he had to steal it back from the very man who had stolen it from him.

“Like I mean it?” He murmured, carving the curve of Ogata’s mouth into his memory, nearly laughing at himself for knowing the shape of it would haunt his dreams for nights to come. “Be careful what you wish for, asshole.”

Sugimoto let one hand slide up the back of Ogata’s neck, trailing through the dark strands of hair that seemed to flow so easily between his fingers. He wanted to close his fist, to yank Ogata’s head back and bare his throat, but he held firm. Something about revenge this way was so much more appealing, even if Ogata hated him for it. Even if he tried to pull away. With a gentleness he thought he’d forgotten, Sugimoto returned the other man’s kiss, soft, long, and slow, the grip in Ogata’s hair just tight enough that the other man couldn’t slip out of his grasp. His other hand felt drawn to Ogata’s cheek and he let it settle there, his thumb tracing tender circles over the whisker-like scars that marred his skin. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that Ogata was looking at him the same way that Umeko had, all those years ago.

“Whatever meaning you’re looking for, Ogata, I’m not about to give it to you. Not this time, you son of a bitch.”