Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. All characters, terms, and affiliates of Gintama are not mine, but belong to their respective owners, Hideaki Sorachi, Shueisha, Sunrise, TV Tokyo, VIZ Media &c.
And She Dreams
Gintoki rolled onto his back and stared sightlessly at the ceiling, wondering how he'd let matters progress this far. Blaming himself for being a lonely bastard. Telling himself that come morning, before Shinpachi shoves open the shogi screen to wake him up, before tucking her back into the closet, he'll tell her that it can't happen again.
That coming to his bed late in the night with sleep-filled eyes and innocent expectations was no longer enough for him. And too dangerous for her. When she's curled against his side, breath warm against his collar, it was so easy to forget that she was a young little thing seeking a warm place to sleep during the cold winter nights. Hard to not let his hand slide over a hip and under her shirt to press her closer. Silent agony to only imagine tracing the small indentations on the small of her back. He'd discovered them a week ago.
A tingle in his fingertips and he swore softly; dug a hand through his hair.
He blamed the changing seasons for her sudden change of sleeping arrangements. That first night, he'd made enough of a fuss to make it clear that it was a one-time thing and that a man needed his own space to sprawl out. But in that easy way that children had of shrugging off propriety, she'd nudged his hip with cool toes and told him to move over. He could bitch all he want, she'd said, but she was cold and he was going to share.
And so it had been, every night for the past few weeks. With Shinpachi down the hall none the wiser, sleeping peacefully because he didn't share a bed with temptation. And she really was that, an answer to his loneliness and damnation all wrapped up in a deceptive little package. Small enough to barely disturb the slope of his blanket; large enough to ruin his peace of mind.
The covers moved beside him and Kagura pushed herself to a sitting position. Gintoki blinked up at her, noting the soft drape of her hair in the meagre moonlight, the top button of her shirt almost slipping out from her movements. He let his gaze slip away. Not that it really mattered; she couldn't see him in the dark.
"Cold," was all she muttered before Gintoki felt knees on either side of his thighs, small hands sliding on his shoulders. Heat blanketed his front where she draped herself over him and he bit his lip, making a deal with whoever was listening that if he could just be allowed to let his hands rest on her, he'd be good. And just like all the other times he'd made a bargain—Let us win this fight. Keep us all alive. Keep us all together—he didn't get an answer.
Gintoki suppressed an urge to laugh and gripped the mat beneath him. Winter nights were always the longest.