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It’s a peaceful spring night in Edo. The air is cool and still, and up in the Yorozuya house, the only sounds that can be heard are the occasional passing vehicle and the soft chatter of customers along the stretch of shophouses below.
In the living room, Hijikata Toshiro is leant over a low writing table, buried in heaps and heaps of paperwork. His boyfriend, Sakata Gintoki, lazes on their shared futon a few feet away, reading the latest Shonen Jump issue.
Gintoki glances at the justaway clock beside the futon. Midnight. Toshiro’s been at this for four hours straight now.
“Oi,” Gintoki calls. No response. He wonders if Toshiro even heard him.
“Oi, Mayora,” he says again, louder this time, extending a foot from under the blanket to nudge Toshiro’s back with his toes.
This time, Toshiro bristles at the contact, grunting in annoyance, but he doesn’t stop writing. Gintoki sighs, deciding he needs to intervene, and sets aside his Jump magazine. He gets up from the futon, stretching the stiffness out of his joints before quietly sneaking up behind Toshiro.
For a guy so disciplined and organised, Toshiro’s table is a complete mess. There are stacks upon stacks of reports, dog-eared and suspiciously stained, on the table and on the floor around him. There are so many papers and official documents scattered across the table that Gintoki can’t even see its wooden surface anymore. The cup of black coffee that Gintoki had so lovingly brewed for his boyfriend hours ago, topped with a massive blob of mayonnaise, sits still and cold on top of some perp’s immigration form—Toshiro hasn’t even touched it. He writes something aggressively on one of the papers and heavily stamps the Shinsengumi seal beside his writing. The ash at the end of his cigarette breaks off, giving in to the weight of not being tapped away for too long.
Gintoki sits down behind him and lazily snakes his arms around his waist. Toshiro tenses up, but quickly recovers and resumes his writing.
“Darling~” Gintoki coos dramatically, resting his chin on Toshiro’s shoulder. It earns him a smack on the head.
“Hah?” Toshiro finally replies uncouthly, very clearly annoyed. “Don’t call me that, it’s gross.”
“You’re mean,” Gintoki pouts, wiggling his arms to get Toshiro to notice him.
Toshiro sighs, tossing his cigarette in in an almost-forgotten ashtray on a tall pile of reports. He places a hand on Gintoki’s clasped ones around his stomach, just to appease him, and hopes that it’s enough to get him to stop acting like an attention-starved housewife from some hentai series. He’s about to go back to work when Gintoki opens his mouth.
“It’s midnight.”
Toshiro’s pen stops mid-air, and he turns around to check the clock.
“Already?” he mutters, shocked that time has passed by so quickly. Rolling out a crick in his neck, he anxiously gets back to work.
Gintoki frowns as he watches Toshiro lean over the table and flip through a couple reports. He catches Toshiro blink a couple times and rub his eyes.
“I think you need a break,” he says softly over Toshiro’s shoulder, not wanting to get smacked again.
“Mm, in a while,” he replies absentmindedly. Gintoki tuts in dissatisfaction and presses a kiss to Toshiro’s clothed shoulder.
“Why are you still working so hard anyway, idiot?” he asks, genuinely confused. “Shouldn’t you be resting? The case is open and shut.”
Toshiro shifts uncomfortably in Gintoki’s embrace, a little offended that Gintoki even has to ask.
“Because,” he says slowly, not wanting to give in to the irritation scratching at his throat. “Kondo-san and the rest of the squad are celebrating at headquarters and no one else is in the mood.”
His voice is soft, but his words are laced with sarcasm. Gintoki stays silent—he can tell Toshiro isn’t done talking.
“This has been the biggest case in years and everyone slaved their asses off on it. Now that it’s closed, nobody wants to do the paperwork.”
Gintoki squeezes Toshiro’s waist in silent consolation.
“And I can’t even work at the barracks because they’re all piss-drunk and Kondo-san will just yell in my face all night. Toshi, come have a drink! Toshi, lighten up, we can leave paperwork to tomorrow! Toshi, I accidentally spilled sake on Harada’s report, sorry! Toshi, why won’t Otae-san love me back?”
The more he talks, the angrier he gets. At this point, Toshiro is seething. His pen is shaking in his fist, and his chest is heaving with each ragged breath he takes.
Gintoki presses a kiss to his jaw. Toshiro realises his agitation and lets his shoulders go slack.
“I just wanna get this done,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “we only have two days before Matsudaira comes banging on our door with another one of his stupid missions. If I don’t finish by then, I don’t know when I’ll ever have the time to touch this again.”
Gintoki puts both hands on Toshiro’s shoulders and kneads his thumbs into his stiff muscles. Toshiro groans appreciatively.
“Well, you have two whole days, right? Would it kill you to take a break?”
“Can’t,” Toshiro mumbles after a while, almost forgetting to reply because Gintoki’s hands feel so fucking good working out the knots in his shoulders. “I’ll fall asleep.”
Gintoki pauses his massage session and gently shifts Toshiro to face him. His eyes are bloodshot—swollen from countless nights of stakeout. The bags under them are dark and heavy, and he looks very, very tired.
Gintoki’s heart clenches at the sight. He sweeps Toshiro’s hair out of the way to kiss his forehead.
“Look at you...” he murmurs, cupping Toshiro’s cheek. He gently brushes his thumb over Toshiro’s cheekbone.
“I’m fine,” he says half-heartedly, bringing a hand up to hold Gintoki’s. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Toshiro knows he’s been burnt out for a long time now, and with the many times he’s almost passed out from lack of sleep, he really should really take a break.
While Toshiro is deep in thought, Gintoki softly brings his hand down and caresses it.
“When’s the last time you cut your nails?”
“Huh?”
Toshiro looks down and realises his nails are way too long to be acceptable for a police officer. He’s been so busy he hasn’t had the time to mind his health, let alone groom himself.
As if hearing his thoughts, Gintoki gently brushes Toshiro’s too-long bangs out of his eyes.
“Take a break, I’ll cut your nails for you.”
Toshiro looks at Gintoki, very seriously considering his offer at this point. But it appears he doesn’t have a choice—before he can decide, Gintoki hoists Toshiro up bridal-style and lays him down on the futon.
“Bastard,” Toshiro says, but there’s no sting to it. He watches as Gintoki gets a nail clipper from their wardrobe, walks over to grab a random piece of paper from his desk, and return, plopping himself behind Toshiro on the futon.
He grabs Toshiro from under his pits and sits him up, allowing him to lean against his own chest. Grabbing his Jump magazine from the side, he places the paper on top of it and puts them both between Toshiro’s legs.
“Comfortable?” Gintoki asks, taking Toshiro’s hand in his own calloused one. Toshiro hums contentedly, resting his head in the crook of Gintoki’s neck.
Gintoki starts cutting, and Toshiro passively watches as his nail clippings fall onto Sogo’s flimsy one-page report. Toshiro makes a mental note to scold him for the lack of effort when he goes back to headquarters.
He shuts his eyes, listening to the erratic clipping noises, feeling Gintoki move from finger to finger. It’s strangely relaxing. At times like this, even if the gesture is small, Toshiro considers himself the luckiest man in the world to have the privilege of being taken care of by Sakata Gintoki. Toshiro hates the feeling of needing to be babied, and Gintoki is someone who is completely certain of his abilities. He’s never too clingy, and fully trusts Toshiro to settle things by himself. But when Toshiro is too deep in to save himself, Gintoki always notices, and is there to pull him out of the rut before it swallows him whole. Only when he’s being pampered like this does he realise he’s been suffering from a bad case of tunnel vision for weeks.
He opens his eyes and turns to face his boyfriend. Gintoki’s brows are knit in concentration, his neck strained to get a closer look. He clips Toshiro’s nails meticulously, taking great care not to nick at the flesh under his nails.
Toshiro feels his lips curl up into a small smile, his heart swelling at the sight. The thought of the infamous Shiroyasha treating him with such tenderness causes a blush to bloom across his nose bridge.
As Gintoki finishes clipping the last of his nails, he moves the magazine and paper out of the way, his hand still holding Toshiro’s up. Toshiro folds his fingers down, squeezing back gently. He tilts his head up and kisses Gintoki sweetly on the cheek.
Gintoki stares at him, wide-eyed, not expecting that at all. But he smiles anyway, shifting Toshiro to face him better.
He leans over Toshiro and presses an open-mouthed kiss to his lips. Toshiro accepts, his eyelids fluttering shut as he languidly kisses back, moving to straddle Gintoki’s hips. They hold each other tenderly, Toshiro’s hands on the sides of Gintoki’s face, and Gintoki’s arms slung around Toshiro’s waist. The kiss is slow and lazy, but it’s also more intimate than any sex they’ve had in the past month. The way Gintoki’s tongue grazes long and slow against Toshiro’s, the way their lips move together at an unspoken, drowsy pace—it’s a confession of raw, unbridled love, of how much they need each other in this godforsaken world.
Slowly but surely, Toshiro feels himself falling asleep, his kisses getting weaker and weaker. Gintoki tucks him into bed, cradling his overworked boyfriend in his strong arms.
He knows he’s either going to get kissed or ruthlessly screamed at tomorrow morning for letting Toshiro give in to his fatigue, but as Gintoki drifts into sleep, he decides that tonight has been well worth the risk.