Title: The Last One
Author: MsJadey
E-mail: slashingmsjadey@hotmail.com
Archive: You want it, you ask, and you got it.
Rating: R
Warnings: sexuality, mentions of violence, extreme language, and character mutilation and/or death
Summary: Inspired by five pages of an untranslated doujinshi; a terrible battlefield whose loss to memory might be tragic or kind.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Watsuki-sensei and I neither seek nor make profit.
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It was all over.
He stumbled to the ground, narrowly avoiding his own sword. He cursed and tried to stand, but his muscles and head wavered like the rising steam of a kettle. That last one. . . He'd gotten a good head shot in before Saitou's sword slash had ripped his guts out.
He tried again, but his body would not support him. He fell backwards into the soft grass, letting the gentle breeze breathe for him.
He was too old for this.
He didn't know where his sword was. His left hand crept along the ground, searching for it, but nothing. He couldn't lift it in this state anyway.
At least they'd won--he'd made sure of that before his knees gave out. Twenty armed men, a pack of bandits roaming about the countryside, all dead.
They'd come about the brigands far away from civilization. A meadow in a stretch of forest. The nearest town was hours away. No help.
He closed his eyes to the blue sky and tried to catch his senses. Opening, he found his vision still swam.
He tried to shift his head, to look for the boy. Is he in as bad a shape as I am? But a sharp pain at his temples stopped him.
Too old. Too old to be fighting against angry young men, better armed than they should have been. Too old to be fighting alongside angry young men, more lack-witted than they should be. Twice he'd been distracted in the middle of the fight, trying to save the Roosterhead's hide. Twice.
The brat always went in too fast, too far. He'd seen the number of glinting blades and smiled. Smacked his fists together and smiled a smile that invited death. Walked right up to Death and hit it between the eyes. You like that, Death? You like that? C'mon, hit me back. Hit me back, you fucking pussy. Let's see what you're made of.
Stupid brat.
It was no good to fight with a distraction. A distraction who wouldn't use a blade and just recycled the same fancy trick. Who forgot that men could sneak up from behind. Forgot about the dangers of fighting in a meadow with gopher holes and hidden sticks. Who nearly got himself killed twice.
Stupid old man, for taking him along. For getting distracted twice. For taking two unnecessary injuries just because the idiot wouldn't look behind or watch his step.
He coughed. The movement hurt his head and made involuntary wetness prick the edge of his eye. That last bastard had gotten him better than he'd thought. All because the Roosterhead tripped on a stick. All because the Roosterhead had been stumbling around and fighting like he was drunk. Sloppier than usual.
Saitou frowned. That wasn't right. The Roosterhead wasn't that bad. He'd gotten better since Kyoto. A little. Which was why Saitou had conceded to company when the boy had learned he was hunting bandits. Hunting bandits for the Meiji government, which was trusting him less and less, giving him less and less important assignments. The Meiji government, with its careful notation of who knew what and who knew too much.
He hadn't told the Roosterhead that, of course. He'd told him to stay quiet, keep his head down, mind his defense, and keep out of the way. It was a bigger assignment than one person could handle anyway. One man against twenty others, armed and skilled at fighting as a group.
It was the kind of mission that officers didn't come back from.
He tried to stand up. His arms wouldn't respond. He'd lost track of them, didn't know where they were. Supposed they were still attached to his shoulders, but who knew? They could be anywhere.
God, his head hurt.
He heard a noise. A soft one. To his left. He wondered if it was his sword. Come back to him.
"Fuckin' hell, that was one hell of a fight."
No, no sword of his would have such a foul mouth. This had to be something else. He tried to concentrate on a cloud overhead, but it kept warping and dimming.
"Shit, you're pretty messed up. Heh, I'll tell you a secret."
His hand touched his chest. So that's where his arm went. Except. . . his skin was lighter than that. This was not his either, this hand. None of this was his, whose was it?
"I'm pretty messed up too."
Somebody's. There was somebody there. Roosterhead.
He tried to associate that name with a face, but all he could see was a stupid clucking bird.
A cough. A deep, wet hacking one. Not his, because it didn't hurt his head.
"Shit."
He was suddenly warm. He hadn't realized he'd felt cold before, but he remembered a cool, gentle breeze. It had gone away.
"Shit, man, this isn't gonna work." More coughing. "I gotta tell you somethin'."
He was having trouble breathing. He felt heavy. The cloud was very dark now, like a rain cloud. With brown eyes and brown hair. It was frowning.
"Saitou, can you hear me? Fuck, what did they do to you? Damn it. You'll be okay though. Don't worry. You've been through worse than this, remember?"
It was smiling.
"I have too, but that don't matter much."
It was smiling and frowning at the same time.
"Shit, this isn't gonna work."
The cloud went away. Blown away by the wind. But he was still warm. Why wasn't he moving?
"Saitou, you gotta listen to me. For once. I know you hate listenin' to me, but this'll be the last time. I swear. I'm gonna do somethin' and you ain't allowed to be pissed. If you're pissed, then I'll fuckin' come back and bug you all the time."
Now he was half cold. His upper half. Only a t-shirt, he remembered. The jacket was too restraining. Not good for a fight. What jacket?
"Fuck, fuck, fuck. I was never gonna do this, I promise. Fuck, you wouldn't let me, you stupid bastard. But I'm allowed now."
A white jacket with black edges and a ridiculous proclamation on the back. It wasn't true. He was so stupid some times. But that wasn't the right jacket.
"Just once. Never again." A laugh. "I promise, never again. But I'm allowed just once. I wanted to do it nicer, though, I promise, but we ain't got time for that now."
What was that? What was it? Something hot. Hot and wet and who cared about clouds, what was that? He couldn't feel his arms but he could feel that. He knew that. That feel. He knew it already. But why now?
It went away.
"Shit, that was pretty damn quick to get it up. Fuckin' bastard, I knew you weren't that cold. I knew it. Fuck. I knew you weren't that cold."
He was cold. The breeze. The cloud came back, blown in on the breeze. The cloud came closer, grew larger. The cloud kissed him. It went away. He could hear sounds. Soft rustling sounds.
"Holy shit, I can't believe I'm fuckin' doin' this."
Something happened. Fast and sharp and tight and what was that? That was new, what was it? He'd never felt that before. It felt warm. It felt hot. It burned. What was it? Was there more of it?
"Fuck! Goddamnit, Saitou. Fuck."
Pressure on his chest. Shaking. Trembling.
"Oh fuck, that fucking hurts. Shit." Laughing. Trembling, weak laughter. "Guess that's not your fault. Fuck, man. This fuckin' hurts so I hope you fuckin' appreciate it."
There was more of it. He wanted even more. The pressure was off his chest, but on his hips. It moved up and down and up and down and down was the best. He wanted more down. When it was down, he wanted to go up. He tried to move. He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move?
"Fuck, Saitou. Fuck it, I know you're alive. I can see you breathing. Are you just gonna fuckin' ignore me? Shit, I know you like it. I can feel you tensin'. Fuck, what did that bastard do to you? Oh god, fuck. Oh yeah."
More and more of it. He could see. He saw skin. He could see sweat. Clenched eyes. A panting mouth. He felt so good.
What was it?
"Shit, this isn't gonna work. I don't. . . I don't think I can. But that's okay. This is pretty good, ya know? You ain't a bad lay. God, I can feel you. Shit, can you feel me? Are you even in there?"
More and more. A dark hand. A hand clenched against white fabric. Red fabric. White fabric turning red fabric. Eyes clenched. Open mouth panting.
More and more. More. More.
"C'mon, you bastard. I can't keep this up forever, so you can't either. Asshole, you always make things hard." A laugh, choked on. "You make everythin' hard." A sweet smile, full of pain. Not pain like his hips hurting. Different pain. Pain turning red.
More. The cloud took over the sky, white and blocking everything else out and his breath went away.
No more.
"Fuckin' finally, old man. You gotta make everythin' into a contest? I'll tell you a secret."
Dark cloud, casting shadows over his face. Sweet smile coming closer.
"I'm not gonna win this one."
Rain drops, falling from the cloud. From the sweet smile. Come to cool him? Chase away the heat? The rain was hot.
"I'll let you take it. You always liked beatin' me."
The cloud rained upon him, softly. On his face. Why wasn't he moving?
"Saitou. Shut up and listen to me." A choke, laughed out. More rain. "You fuckin' asshole motherfuckin' bastard sonovabitch. You shit. I'll tell you a secret."
Hot rain.
"I love you."
The cloud rained on him and kissed him.
"So what the fuck are you gonna do about that?"
Saitou woke as the sun was making preparations to set. He shook his head to clear the remaining vagaries and wispy thoughts. It hurt like a bitch. He looked around at the corpses, scattered through the meadow. That last one had given him a concussion or something.
Damn Roosterhead.
Standing, unsteadily at first, but then comfortably; he dusted himself off. How embarrassing, to be downed like that. He and the boy had come upon the band early in the morning and had disposed of them before noon, so he must have slept for hours.
He rubbed his arm wearily. Where was his sword? There. He retrieved it. Damn if he wasn't getting too old for this kind of thing. Hopefully the Roosterhead wouldn't be an ass about it.
Saitou groaned. He'd been asleep for hours, knocked senseless by a comman hooligan, no better than the Roosterhead himself. Then he'd been in that same Roosterhead's care for the better part of the afternoon. The boy would never keep quiet about it--this would be a humiliation.
Speaking of the Roosterhead. . . There.
Napping or unconscious? Saitou wouldn't put it past the dolt to fall asleep on a cold battlefield. He must have gotten bored staring at the sky while I slept. At least he had the sense to stay here.
He walked over and kicked the boy in the back. He was lying in a fetal position.
The Roosterhead didn't stir.
"Get up, idiot. It's time to go."
Nothing.
"Damn it, Sanosuke. I don't have time for this."
He knelt down and pulled the boy over onto his back.
Dead.
For quite a few hours. Some blood had pooled in his face a little, blue under the skin. But not much. Not enough. He checked the whole body. There. Gut wound. He'd taken a sword and bled to death.
Saitou stood up.
He hadn't seen that happen. He hadn't been paying attention all the time--just enough to help the boy twice. That second stupid time, when he'd been fighting like he was drunk. Or running out of blood.
Fuck.
The stupid boy had finally done it.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Scratched at and itchy spot on his face. His fingernails came away stuck with dusty, dried blood.
He looked back over the field of slaughtered bandits with a frown. He hated when they splashed him. It wasn't their fault, though.
He looked back at the body. The boy.
He'd finally done it.
He sighed and knelt down; frowned and tugged at his pants. They were twisted uncomfortably. He righted them. Kneeled down. Picked up the boy. Not exactly light enough to be called a boy. Heavy, pressure on his arms.
He frowned.
"Your friends are not going to be pleased, idiot. You make everything difficult."
The body was very cold.
The jacket was too large and it got in the way. Saitou put the boy back down and took it off. Folded it and wrapped it around the boy's waist. Folded the stained part under. A corner of the jacket was crusted and dirty. The Roosterhead probably used that side to wipe his face after stuffing himself like a hog at the Akabeko or the dojo. No more. Never again.
He sighed.
He picked up the boy and walked out of the meadow. He felt like he'd forgotten something. Left something behind. Lost something.
I'll tell you a secret. . .
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