Chapter Text
The talk about new swords perked Toshirou’s interest. In his opinion, it wasn’t the model that mattered; rather, it was whether the sword served its purpose in their hands that did. And yet, he wouldn’t begrudge his subordinates from admiring the new swords. Ignoring the lint roller attachment on Kondo’s sword, the make of them seemed decent, at least.
Speaking of swords, his weapon was in a pretty beat up state. Although he cared for it and polished it whenever he could, simply doing those routine things was ineffective. Toshirou grimaced. He had been neglecting its maintenance because a certain someone had been causing so many disturbances recently. Half of the property damage was caused by Sougo’s careless use of his bazooka, but Toshirou could write it off as a miscellaneous operating expense. For the other half, Toshirou had to employ mental gymnastics to keep Gintoki’s name out of their records. There was only so much they could do to cover up for the perm-headed bastard. It wasn’t even part of their job description, for fuck’s sake!
Still, they owed the Yorozuya a favor or two (or several, really). Without his interference from the shadows, the Shinsengumi wouldn’t have been able to keep the peace in Edo. It was somewhat humiliating to have to rely on an ex-rebel, but times were rough. Toshirou wouldn’t begrudge their organization for being ‘weak.’ He understood that there were external factors affecting their performance – most of them being bureaucratic, all thanks to those dumb politicians – but he could admit that Gintoki being a reluctant protector alongside them eased some of their burdens.
Toshirou wouldn’t voice all that out loud, but he could definitely show his gratefulness in ways that weren’t overly direct. Besides, the alpha of his pack had taken a liking to the freeloader. Toshirou had no choice but to defer to Kondo’s authority. Even the sadistic brat liked that sugar freak! Toshirou had an inkling as to why both men got along well with Gintoki, but he refused to acknowledge it. He was the last line of defense the Shinsengumi had against perm-headed bastards, after all.
Man, what was with him lately? He was getting agitated over debts he owed to someone who would be satisfied with a wire transfer worth a month’s rent or even five hundred orders of parfait. Not befitting the Demonic Vice-Commander at all. What a joke.
After his men had started debating the usefulness of the Commander’s cleaning equipment slash sword, he sighed heavily. Why were they hanging out in his courtyard, anyway? Noisy idiots.
Without informing anybody of his plans, Toshirou set off to visit the swordsmith whose shop was on the outskirts of town. The location wasn’t ideal because it was close to rebel territory. It was often a challenging trip because Katsura’s goons swarmed the area. Well, not that they posed a threat to him. It had been a while since he enjoyed clashing swords with a competent opponent.
Most of the Shinsengumi’s enemies were easy prey. He wasn’t by any means overestimating himself, but those lawless samurai had lost their spark. In reality, Katsura wasn’t much of an extremist himself. The man was a pacifist through and through. Someone with such an extensive network would have been able to bring the government to its knees, but Katsura’s goals were beyond Toshirou’s understanding. However, he was familiar with Katsura’s methods. Needless violence wasn’t something that the long-haired man resorted to, and that reflected on his subordinates as well. Before blood was shed, they would retreat. The extended cat-and-mouse chase was tedious, but Toshirou must admit that it worked in their favor. It spared the innocents from being dragged into their scuffles.
Sure, he was called a demon behind his back (and in front of him, thanks to that Yorozuya asshole), but he wasn’t heartless. Damn it, that perm-headed bastard kept intruding in his thoughts. How irritating.
Surprisingly, his walk to the workshop remained undisturbed, which was out of the ordinary. Whenever he patrolled this part of town, the rebels would flock to him like dogs to a bone. The Pavlovian response would never not be funny to Toshirou. He shrugged off the feeling of wrongness and accepted the blessing that fell in his lap.
He stubbed his cigarette before he entered the shop. The owner, upon seeing his regular customer, wiped his hands on his smock and stood in greeting. Toshirou returned the gesture with a nod and then, without preamble, surrendered his sword that had been fastened to his hip.
The master fastidiously inspected the blade. He frowned. “It seems you’re overdoing it as rashly as ever,” the man commented, and Toshirou was immediately reminded of Kondo’s words to him the other day. These worrywarts. The man continued, “A sword can be used again after it’s been mended, but humans don’t work that way.”
Instead of replying, he let the concern wash over him. He had learned in his adulthood that he didn’t respond to kindness well. He was almost embarrassed by his awkwardness. He jammed his hands into his pockets to curb the itch for a cigarette. “As long as a human doesn’t break, he can recover, right?”
Toshirou had turned his attention to the sword rack, so he didn’t catch the head shake from the blacksmith. “If you keep fighting in such a way that damages your sword so much, you’ll end up being broken in two pretty soon. That’s what I meant.”
He understood the sentiment but as the Shinsengumi’s right hand, he couldn’t let go of his sword. Sometimes, he dreamt of a future where he could have a small family of his own - one or two pups, if he could still have them. It was a lofty fantasy that only Kondo was privy to. He didn’t have the heart to confide in anybody else, even Sougo, who he considered another dear friend. Although they clashed words and swords often, their relationship wasn’t a fragile one.
Toshirou chuckled to himself. Sentimentality must be contagious, huh?
Right now, he had swords to inspect so he collected his emotions into a box and stored it in the back of his mind. His self-assessment would have to be postponed.
A deep red sheath snagged his gaze; the finish on the sheath was superb, possibly the best he had seen the shop carry. He let his curiosity get the better of him as he grabbed the sword from the display. He settled into his stance and then pulled the sword out in one smooth motion. The heft of the sword was also satisfactory. Its weight sat on his palm like a compatible companion, like it had been custom-made for him.
He whistled, impressed. “Ossan... how much for this?”
“You have an eye for a good sword as usual,” the blacksmith quipped. “Free of charge if you take care of it.”
Although Toshirou considered himself a regular of this shop, he couldn’t accept such a generous gift. With furrowed brows, he said, “Oi, I can’t possibly-”
The swordsmith scratched his beard, exasperated. “None of my customers can wield that sword as well as you can. Take it.”
That shut Toshirou up. Since the blacksmith put it that way, Toshirou agreed that it would be a waste of craftsmanship to let a lesser samurai have it.
As always, the swordsmith tried to reel Toshirou into casual small talk, but he didn’t bite the bait. Not today, at least. The strange scent in the air confused him. He was familiar with the smell of the workshop – a combination of fire, steel, and sweat – but there was a hint of something else that he couldn’t identify. His lips and fingers twitched for a stick of a cigarette, but he held off as respect for the old man.
Before he left, he bowed to the blacksmith who had resumed his work. They were two workaholics in a pod. That was the reason why he admired the old man.
Toshirou smiled to himself, but the light atmosphere didn’t last. The wind shifted, carrying with it an odor that triggered his gag reflex. He struggled to stay upright, and it was during this moment of distraction that he was surrounded by rebels.
“You must be Shinsengumi Vice-Commander, Toshiro Hijikata-dono. Although you’re a samurai, you’ve sided with the Amanto for perks. You’re a traitor! We’re here to bring punishment from heaven!”
He pretended to listen to the villainous monologue as he tried to compose himself. He had no idea why his head was pounding, and his stomach was churning. His sudden bout of illness was a handicap he would rather not have when crossing swords with rebels. Worse yet, none of them were from Edo. They were the kind who couldn’t disguise their thirst for carnage unlike Katsura’s men. Toshirou cursed his luck and charged at the rebels in front of him.
At the beginning, he had the upper hand, but the odor intensified. He staggered on his feet, and one of the rebels ceased the opening and stabbed through his coat. It was only his reflex that saved him from being gutted. It broke the skin a little, but it was barely a scratch. Seeing the gash on his coat irritated him. He sidestepped another rebel’s attack and swung his sword upward. Blood sprayed out in an arc, and the sight of their comrade being cleanly sliced in the chest deterred some of the rebels, but it angered some of them.
The rebels surrounded him, like a crowd of weaklings, but their sheer number had Toshirou at a disadvantage. He remembered the blacksmith’s reminder to take care of the sword. Had the old man been hinting at this ambush in the workshop? Ah, it didn’t matter. He gripped his sword tighter, swearing to thank the blacksmith for it later.
One, through the arm. Two, across the ankle. Three, under the rib… There were rebels strewn in front of him, but he had been hit as well. Ah, there were spider lilies blooming on his uniform. At this point, the pain was secondary only to the nausea that almost had him doubled over. Keeping lunch inside him was starting to become a chore, but debasing himself in front of these rebels for throwing up was out of the question.
Toshirou swallowed and centered himself. He wasn’t the Shinsengumi Vice-Commander for nothing.
The rebels circled around him, emboldened by the sorry sight of his clothes. Toshirou had a lot of fight left in him as he dodged and parried one samurai after another. While they certainly weren’t skilled, their desperation propelled them to inhuman strengths.
Toshirou rolled to the right. A persistent rebel chased him, and their swords locked again, leaving Toshirou’s side unguarded. Another man approached, but Toshirou kicked him in the middle and launched him into a garbage bin, right where scum belonged.
However, the relief was short-lived. He saw rather than felt a sword protruding through his abdomen. He gasped raggedly. Hey, that was bad, wasn’t it?
He spat to the side and grinned, his teeth coated in blood. It would take more than that to defeat him. He grabbed the rebel in the arm, yanked him forward, and punched that unsuspecting face, knocking the rebel unconscious. He wiped his knuckle on his pant leg. Every piece of clothing on him had been reduced to a rag. What a shame.
Brows twitching, he gestured at the remaining rebels to come at him.
They didn’t.
As they refused to break formation, the brief reprieve allowed Toshirou to take stock of his physical condition. Nothing too alarming, but there was a strange sensation that was crawling through his nerves. It wasn’t connected to the blood loss he had suffered or the fresh injuries he had accumulated.
He was panting and his mouth was watering.
Pre-heat. He was in pre-heat. It had been a while since he had experienced these symptoms, so they had gone unnoticed. He cursed inwardly. He should’ve been more careful.
Toshirou had always had a sharp nose. However, he detected the scent of an alpha amidst the rebels too late. Between one heartbeat and the next, his knees buckled. He was desperately fending off the instinct to submit, but his legs were folded and locked in place. His head was bowed lowly, his fringe touching the ground because of his prostrated position. How unsightly.
He didn’t want to submit. He didn’t. He-
If his legs wouldn’t follow, then he would force them to. His muscles could only twitch and spasm. That was the extent of control he had over his lower limbs. He grabbed his sword with both hands, intent on stabbing himself in the thigh. Before the tip could break his skin, a scent wafted to his nose. He snapped out of his trance, as if he was emerging from a dream.
Toshirou recognized the scent, even before the Shinsegumi uniform fluttered into view. There were two men in the Shinsengumi whose scent had a sweet undertone. Toshirou was one of them. Slowly, he raised his head and locked eyes with a man he didn't expect to see: Ito Kamotaro.
What was Ito, of all people, doing here?
“I just saw a member of the Shinsengumi being attacked, so I rushed over here... What are you doing at a place like this, Hijikata-kun?” Ito muttered Toshirou’s name like a curse.
Toshirou shivered. This was bad.
Ito was cleaning up the mess Toshirou had left. As an adviser, Ito didn’t have a squad under his command. Then, who were these Shinsengumi members in the street?
The rebels fell one after the other. Screams of agony reached his ears, further exacerbating his headache. The tally of casualties would have to wait because Toshirou had lost count at twenty. It wasn’t the fight that he was expecting. It was a massacre. It reeked of a set-up. It was over before he could grasp the absurdity of the situation. After he had painstakingly whittled down the rebels, these fuckers dared to ‘rescue’ him? It was too convenient to be a coincidence.
Toshirou glared at Ito, who was gloating at him from the center of the carnage.
Before he could verbalize his frustrations, he passed out.
-
They held a party to celebrate Ito’s return in the banquet hall.
As the Commander, Kondo led a toast for the man of the hour. Besides him, Toshirou nursed his warm sake as he listened to the conversation to his left. It was typical of Kondo to be loud at gatherings, inebriated or not. He was heaping praises on Ito for securing additional funding for the operation of the Shinsengumi. The thing that pained Toshirou the most was that he had to begrudgingly agree with Kondo’s compliments. The shogunate believed that the Shinsengumi was a ragtag gang of ruffians and refused to spend a dime on them. Even Matsudaira couldn’t influence them to release more money. Somehow, against all odds, Ito’s glib tongue had convinced the bigwigs that they were worth investing in. As an ally, Ito was definitely an asset, but as an enemy...
Considering his personal score to settle with Ito, Toshirou was torn with indecision. On one hand, he planned to tell Kondo what had happened with the rebels. On the other hand, he wanted to give Ito the benefit of the doubt. After all, it was a shame that the two male omegas in the Shinsengumi couldn’t get along. Surely, Ito must have his reasons.
Toshirou wasn’t a ‘turn the other cheek’ type of guy, but for tonight he was willing to let it slide.
Soon, Ito’s passionate speech reached its peak. He stood behind Kondo and placed his hands on the Commander’s shoulders, towering over him. He wasn’t being subtle with his body language at all. The implication of his action wasn’t lost to Toshirou.
With gritted teeth, Toshirou kept his hand from grabbing his sword. Who knew what sort of stories would spring from their confrontation if he let his temper ruin his composure.
Since his encounter with the rebels, he hadn’t been himself. There was a persistent throbbing in the base of his skull that hadn’t gone away. The resident medic in the barracks had advised him to visit the hospital for blood work, but he threw the idea out the window. He wasn’t that desperate yet.
He wasn’t expected to participate in the festivities because he was supposed to be recuperating in his room, but he couldn’t turn down the opportunity to observe the rest of the Shinsengumi’s reactions to Ito. Although he had been a member for a year, Ito hadn’t established the connections within that he ought to have. The squad captains were as calm as Toshirou was, occasionally sipping sake and assessing the situation as the night meandered on.
As Toshirou expected, it was their subordinates who started to talk. Alcohol was the best social lubricant, after all.
The sake, as it turned out, was too effective. Toshirou eavesdropped as the men switched from one topic to another in a blink of an eye. At first, they were conversing about personal, trivial matters – whose wife had given birth (where were the presents, cheapskates!), whose child had lost a tooth, whose parents had sent gifts from the countryside. All of those were benign subjects befitting the occasion.
However, after a malicious slip of tongue, they were gossiping about his secondary gender.
‘Can you imagine how good he’ll look under you?’
Toshirou’s fingers curled around his sake cup as his neck prickled with discomfort. The temptation to soothe his scent gland was growing on him, like a persistent itch that he couldn’t scratch.
He had never tolerated disrespect before, but he didn’t recognize the voice or the face. Was there a member of the Shinsengumi who had the guts to debase the Vice-Commander like that? The answer was obvious. Of course, there was.
He wasn’t naïve to believe that having an omega as second-in-command of the Shinsengumi would change public perception of omegas. He hoped that it would but, in the end, he was a pragmatic man. Considering the uproar his appointment had caused, he realized how distant his dream was.
It didn’t matter how skilled or accomplished as a swordsman he was. For as long as Hijikata was an omega, he was beneath them: a pretty plaything of the bakufu.
Listening to them speak about him in such a manner was like gathering sand on the palm of his hands, except the grains are overflowing, slipping through his fingers and pooling on his lap. If he didn’t move, he was going to be buried under its weight.
The sake almost slipped from his grasp. He couldn’t linger here. Even Kondo’s scent wasn’t comforting him as it usually did.
He felt sick.
He left without a word. The sour taste in his mouth had returned.
-
It was sometime after the party when he crossed paths with Ito. As always, the man’s glance was calculating. They passed each other on the narrow enagawa. For all their mutual animosity, they were both willing to entrust their backs to each other. As interesting as the discovery was, Toshirou didn’t dwell on the implicit trust between them. Doing so was going to give him the hives.
After a short stalemate, Ito started, “Hijikata-kun, I have something to ask you.”
Fine, Toshirou thought as he pinched his cigarette with his teeth. He restrained himself from chewing it into two. Two could play that game. “What a coincidence... me, too.”
After a long drag of his cigarette, Toshirou opened his mouth.
“You hate me, don’t you?” They asked in unison.
Unfortunately, it seemed that Ito had his words in order as he spoke his piece before Toshirou could. “Because I’m Kondo-san’s favorite, and although I’m a newcomer, I’m rising so fast that it threatens you. I bet I’m an eyesore to you, right?”
Toshirou almost laughed at Ito’s audacity. The foundation of their pack dynamics was decades of camaraderie. Toshirou’s position in the pack was sealed. With or without the Shinsengumi, he belonged with Kondo, Sougo, and the rest of the members who hailed from Bushu. Meanwhile, Ito’s wasn’t. That was a vulnerability that Toshirou could exploit, but he wouldn’t.
He remembered his situation in the Toshirou household too well, shunned and abandoned because he had presented as an omega. If it hadn’t been for Tamegoro’s kindness, he would have been kicked out of the estate by his relatives.
He wasn’t going to expose Ito to that sort of cruelty.
“That’s what you think? You want to advance your career, but I’m higher than you.” It was childish of him to do so, but he emphasized what he assumed was a sore spot for Ito. He smirked, feeling vindictive, and echoed Ito’s question, “I bet I’m an eyesore to you, right?”
If the bad blood between them stemmed from Ito’s insecurity, then this conversation was going to fuel the fire. As much as he was sympathetic towards Ito, Toshirou was no saint. He wasn’t going to let the newcomer walk all over him.
“It’s a groundless suspicion, Hijikata-kun. I don’t think about that kind of thing.”
Ito tried to assure Toshirou, but he could read through the duplicity. It seemed to him that Ito was purposefully driving a wedge between them. For an omega who hadn’t assimilated into the pack, it was a strange behavior. A year had already passed and yet the barriers that Ito had erected around himself were standing strong. They had gone through great lengths to accommodate Ito, and yet their attempts had been rebuffed repeatedly.
What the hell was Ito planning?
“That’s good,” Toshirou said, lying through his teeth. “It seems we have cleared up the misunderstanding between us.”
“An eyesore...” Ito scoffed.
The cigarette finally fell from Toshirou’s lips. Before its embers could burn through the floor, he crushed it under his boot. He’d had enough of this farce. “You’re more than that.”
As they walked away, they growled, the sound reverberating in their chests, “In the future, I’ll kill you.”
-
It was midday when a couple of knocks tore Toshirou’s attention from his paperwork. His wrist paused mid-stroke, splattering ink onto the document. Whoever disturbed him better have a satisfactory reason to do so.
To his surprise, his door slid open, revealing an unfamiliar face.
It was an outdated tradition that intruding into an omega’s safe space was inappropriate because the potency of their scent could trigger a rut. In Toshirou’s case, he smoked so much that his natural scent had been neutralized. It was there – a hint of honey and lime – but less present than the chemical smell that clung to him.
Still, he thought that the custom was merely courtesy and common sense. Alpha, beta, omega, no matter their gender, everyone valued their privacy. Rightfully so, he was offended by the intrusion. Not even Yamazaki would dare enter his room without his acknowledgment.
Besides, the man’s smell was unbearable.
“Hijikata-san,” the unnamed man said, with a voice that was as forgettable as his face, “Kondo-san wants to see you.”
Toshirou tried to keep his face placid, scrubbing it clean of the confusion he was experiencing. In lieu of a verbal response, he grunted and chased the man out with a withering glare.
Thankfully, his head had cooled by the time he greeted Kondo with a small smile. Considering the other man’s rare somber mood, Toshirou opted for a semblance of formality as he let himself inside. He sat in a seiza position, waiting for Kondo to address him.
Ever since they had made a home out of a refurbished, dilapidated dojo in the middle of Edo, they had ditched etiquette in the curb. Who were they kidding? They were a bunch of country bumpkins, after all. Pretending to be sophisticated elites was simply not their style.
Anxiety swelled and settled in the pit of Toshirou’s gut as an uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Belatedly, he noticed that there were no refreshments served. He wasn’t particularly thirsty, but the lack of consideration was out of character for Kondo. Usually, there would be tea and snacks on the side, which would have been the perfect distraction to settle Toshirou’s nerves. As it was, Toshirou could only entertain himself by watching the clouds drifting overhead. It was a futile activity, but it was better than the alternative staring at the wall above Kondo’s shoulder and praying for patience.
Finally, after minutes that felt like an eternity, Kondo lowered his weird sword. However, his stare had a depth to it, and its strangeness raised Toshirou’s hackles.
“Toshi, you’re the ideal samurai model for everyone,” Kondo said slowly, phrasing it as a compliment. “I’m not in a position to say this, but don’t do anything to betray the way of the samurai.”
The insinuation hit him like a physical blow.
This conversation was going to be about the ambush then. Toshirou had heard the dirty rumors: the Demonic Vice-Commander had stopped managing his symptoms and started flaunting his scent everywhere, and that he had submitted to rebels for a quick fuck. He wondered then if Ito had anything to do with smearing his reputation. He wouldn’t put it past the other man to resort to such tactics when he had much to gain from it.
In Toshirou’s defense, his cocktail of suppressants had become ineffectual. Even the doctor he had consulted in Oedo Hospital was stumped by the sudden loss of efficacy of his medications, considering that he had been prescribed with the strongest in the market.
His nostrils flared in annoyance. He never had reason to be ashamed of his secondary designation – being an omega was simply who he was. Having the ability to bear children was an honor. His brother had told him so. Tamegoro was supportive of him, even after he had learned that his bastard stepbrother was an omega. Likewise, Kondo never had issue with his status, not in the decade that they had known each other at least.
Toshirou clenched his fists where they laid on his lap.
“He’s quite the guy... As quick as a flash, news of my shameful behavior has spread.” Aggrieved by the accusation, Toshirou didn’t bother to soften his sharp remarks. “Well, for him, it’s the perfect opportunity to defeat me and rise up the ladder.”
Kondo’s frown deepened. “Toshi, stop talking that way. Ito-sensei is thinking about the spirit of the group...”
“I already told you to stop calling him ‘sensei,’ Kondo-san,” Toshirou paused as he dragged his cigarette to his lips. Kondo... would listen to him, right?
“Are you going to give your position to him? If that’s not the case, are you going to share your position with him?” There was no point in antagonizing Kondo, but there were things that had to be said plainly. “Need I remind you that members are unsure about how to treat him? His former colleagues are already his allies.”
Contrary to popular opinion, Kondo wasn’t stupid. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been handpicked by Matsudaira whose standard was taller than the terminal itself. Then again, it might have been Kondo’s charisma, his natural capacity to lead the pack, that singled him out from the rest. When they had been merely ronin from Bushu, without titles to their names, Toshirou vowed to follow Kondo wherever and whenever – a testament to the loyalty that Kondo could inspire from people.
Toshirou never had cause to doubt that devotion. Until now.
“Are you saying that Ito-sensei is trying to take over the Shinsengumi?” Kondo asked skeptically.
“Who knows?” The mystery of Ito’s schemes grated on Toshirou but so far, he had nothing solid on him. The man was meticulous – there was no trail that Toshirou could follow. He couldn’t have Yamazaki investigate Ito because it might create a rift in their organization. If their best spy couldn’t sniff out Ito’s dirty laundry, what chance did others have? Toshirou might have had a lot of complaints about Yamazaki’s methodology, but he was nothing but dedicated to his duties.
Still, to have a potential traitor in their midst was unacceptable. Toshirou’s instincts had never led him astray. “But ever since he got here, he’s done nothing but gather allies and influence. It’s obvious he’s up to something. He’s not as powerful as he wants to be, and he’s not satisfied.”
He stubbed his cigarette on the ash tray. It was his third one. He could reach for a fourth, but it wasn’t going to eradicate the foul taste in his mouth. His lips thinned in disgust. “Kondo-san... if a snake has two heads...” He rarely spoke in riddles and metaphors with Kondo, not because the other man wasn’t smart enough for imagery, but because Toshirou preferred honesty. Being brutally blunt was his expertise. He could cut into the heart of the matter in seconds, without a shred of concern for trampled feelings. Besides, Kondo didn’t care for the stereotype than an omega had to be gentle in word and in deed, so Toshirou could be his genuine self in front of the man. “One either has to rot and fall off or the ensuing feud will split the body in two.”
The silver lining, Toshirou supposed, was that Kondo didn’t immediately refute him. If Kondo did, Toshirou feared that he might not have allies in the Shinsengumi. Although the squad captains might consider his claims, Kondo’s absolute trust in Ito could override their decision.
And then, as if oblivious to Toshirou’s inner turmoil, Kondo said, “I believe that Ito-sensei is a crucial man for the Shinsengumi.”
“Hey, Toshi, we’re not doing this to ensure your own position. We’re doing this to protect Edo and to stick to the ways of the samurai,” Kondo continued, the stubborn set of his brows reflecting his determination to defend Ito from whatever slander Toshirou had in his arsenal. “To get that wisdom, I’ll ask for anyone who can teach it. It’s natural to call the person who teaches us ‘sensei.’ If you ask me to treat him like a follower, I’ll refuse. I’ve never thought of you guys as my followers. As for the way of the samurai, we’re on equal footing.”
Gritting his teeth, Toshirou realized that there was no convincing Kondo of Ito’s dubious character. “Kondo-san, you don’t understand anything! Pretty words won’t help manage the organization-” Toshirou paused in the middle of his tirade.
There was something wrong with him. The back of his neck was prickling, his palms were sweating. The area around his scent gland throbbed, as if inflamed.
His breathing had become labored. He had to go.
“Toshi?!”
Ignoring the shocked exhalation behind him, Toshirou rushed to his room. He chose the route with the least foot traffic. It wasn’t difficult to navigate his mental layout of the compound. It had been his home for more than a decade, after all. Fortunately, the compound was empty because most of his subordinates were out dutifully patrolling the town. If there had been stragglers loitering in his path, they must've been too afraid to intercept him.
After nearly tripping on the entrance to his room, he collapsed onto his futon and sobbed. He wrapped his arms around himself as the abdominal cramps worsened.
He palmed his clothed length, crying out at the friction. Clumsily, he pulled his pants down and shimmied out of his underwear. It was soaked with his slick.
When he wrapped his hand around his freed erection, he hissed in bliss. He teased the tip with his blunt nail, his toes curling from the sudden pressure. His mouth watered as he stared at the ceiling. He pumped his cock, testily at first, then firmly once he had found his rhythm.
It was too hot. He loosened his cravat and tossed it aside. Soon, his coat followed. With the panels of his undershirt peeled apart, his pebbled nipples were exposed to his ministrations. Slowly, he cradled his right pectoral, the muscle soft and pliant, then squeezed. He groaned, tears gathering on his lashes like pearls. Tempted by the sensitivity of his breasts, he rolled a nipple between his fingers, tugging on it until it reddened and puffed up. His other hand was massaging his balls, the glands hot and heavy with his seed.
The onslaught of sensations reduced him into a whimpering mess. He repeated the motions on the other nub, fingers rubbing until it was sore. His omega characteristics were at their peak: his scent spreading, his chest swelling, and his hole self-lubricating. All of his reproductive organs were primed for sex.
The hand that had been teasing his balls lingered south, the finger-light touches raising goosebumps on his skin, and then his fingers fumbled for the opening. It had been a while since he had pleasured himself there. He spread his legs slowly, gradually, because minute movements sent a thrill of arousal straight to his dick, prying his ass cheeks apart. Slick gushed from the source, dripping onto his futon and soiling it. The ring was tight, but the slick should facilitate his entry. He prodded the entrance with a digit and gasped as it breached his hole effortlessly. He slid the intruding appendage deeper into the velvet heat, the squelching sounds loud in the background. In and out it went, his rim fluttering and guiding his finger deeper inside.
As soon as he had adjusted to the finger inside him, he added the second and the third in succession. The girth of the three fingers stuffed him full, his slick escaping through the gaps in a sluggish stream. His mouth opened and closed uselessly; his words lost in a state of ecstasy. His thighs spasmed uselessly as he searched for the spot inside him that would drive him to the edge. His callouses scraped against his walls pleasantly, eliciting punched out noises from him.
When he managed to maneuver himself onto his front, he probed further, his ass stretching and accommodating his fingers by coating them in fresh slick. His knees were shaking as he plunged his fingers faster and deeper, his pace desperate to hit his prostate. He continued scissoring himself open until he located that small bundle of nerves. His cock spurted a little, translucent liquid pooling beneath him. It should’ve disgusted him, this wantonness. Instead, his scent intensified, honey and lime mingling with the thick smell of sex.
His injury twinged but he was close, so he ignored it. Frantically, he jerked his dick, which pulsed steadily in his grip, and pressed into the spot inside him. His abused nipples dragged across the fabric as he fucked his fingers into his prostate with pinpoint precision. He mewled weakly, scared of the intensity of the orgasm that was escalating within him. The stimulation was too much for him.
He screamed into his pillow as he climaxed, his cum dripping all over his sheets. He rutted against the mess of slick and spend beneath him, the gentle glide intoxicating despite his state of exhaustion, riding his release until it crossed into overstimulation.
As he crashed from the high, a familiar fire spread in his stomach. It wasn’t enough.
-
Because Toshirou had known Sougo for as long as he had known Kondo, he invited the brunette to a family restaurant and confided in him.
Sougo laughed at him between sips of iced tea. “Hijikata-san, don’t blame your weakness on others. You’re weak to begin with.”
“I know,” Toshirou said, not attempting to refute the statement. Although he had resolved to explain his circumstances to Sougo, he couldn’t find the words to do so. Rather, it felt futile to try. Hadn’t Kondo brushed him off the other day? For someone he considered his confidant, Kondo had misunderstood him severely. Remembering it hurt his pride, but he had to swallow the pain down. If he had to do that again, in front of Sougo, that was his misfortune.
Toshirou added, a little belatedly, a little offhandedly, “This is how I am.”
Sougo raised his brow, a slight inquisitive quirk, probably confounded by Hijikata’s lackluster response.
“Oh, my... this is strange. Why don’t you just tell Kondo-san-” He paused as his eyes widened in realization. “Are you trying to say... that’s the reason you had a fight with Kondo-san?”
“I wish I could say that,” Toshirou answered, instead of clarifying in length. He should have – having Sougo on his side would shield him temporarily from whatever Ito was scheming – but he refused to pit their pack alphas against each other. The in-fighting that it would cause wouldn’t be worth it, anyway. Better leave the feuding between the omegas.
There was a flash of apprehension in Sougo’s expression. If Toshirou had been distracted, he would’ve missed it. “Hijikata-san, if you don’t pay attention this time, Ito-san will take away your position,” Sougo warned.
Finally, the brat sounded serious.
Even though Toshirou was certain that he wouldn’t be kicked out, it was only fair that he shared the recent development from Sougo. Without Matsudaira’s express permission, core members of the Shinsengumi couldn’t be terminated from service. Demoted? Sure, that wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. Whether Sougo liked it or not, the reshuffling in the ranks would affect him. For as long as Toshirou could remember, Sougo had been competing with Toshirou for his position as Kondo’s right-hand man.
“No time for that now,” Toshirou sighed, stubbing his third cigarette on the tray. His appetite for nicotine had been coming and going recently. It was concerning. “Since I became like this, I’ve already broken more than ten of the Kyokuchu Hatto rules,” he confessed, although from Sougo’s lack of reaction to the blackmail material, he probably had that on record. What an asshole. Still, it was a blessing that Sougo was treating him with the same thinly concealed contempt. “If Ito delivers a sentence for seppuku tomorrow, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Although they had been at odds with each other, he and Sougo had a semblance of understanding between them. It wasn’t a typical camaraderie, but it was real. It was true. Toshirou didn’t want to implicate Sougo into the shit storm Ito was stirring.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “If you’re with me, you’ll attract Ito’s attention.”
Despite his apathetic attitude, Sougo was smart. He would be able to read between the lines. Without waiting for a response, Toshirou pulled out a couple of bills from his wallet and placed them on the table. That should cover for the food they had ordered, though his coffee sat there, untouched. He hadn’t even opened the complementary mayonnaise packet he’d been given.
Food and drink seemed so unappealing to him lately.
Obviously, Sougo had found Toshirou’s behavior odd. Amber eyes searched and scrutinized Toshirou, as if the visual inspection would provide the answers that Sougo sought. It wouldn’t, Toshirou was certain. Aside from the darker rings around his eyes and lighter weight, there was nothing else out of the ordinary. He could attribute those changes to an increased workload, and nobody would doubt him.
Then, out of sheer frustration, Sougo sniffed. It was discourteous, but Toshirou wouldn’t fault him for relying on a trusted sense of smell. There was no doubt in Toshirou’s mind that Sougo already had his assumptions about the deteriorating state of his health. More than the physical signs, it was Toshirou’s scent that exposed it.
Monitoring his scent hadn’t been necessary – omegas on suppressants were free from that tedious task – but the difference was too obvious to miss. The hint of tobacco that he was most associated with had been replaced by the sweetness and tartness of honey and lime. There was an undertone of something else, something that hadn’t been there since his days as a ronin in Bushu. He couldn’t tell what it was exactly, but Sougo could.
Before Sougo could confirm the drastic shift his scent had undergone, Toshirou decided that he should go. Otherwise, he would be handing Sougo more ammunition against him, and that wouldn’t do. Simply put, his ego wouldn’t allow it, as battered and bruised as it already was.
Behind him, he heard the scraping of boots against the restaurant floor. That lazy ass was dragging his feet again, wasn’t he?
“... Wait, Hijikata-san,” Sougo called out to him, but Toshirou didn’t wait.
-
A typical pre-heat lasted a week at most. Toshirou had been stuck in a dazed, fevered state for two.
If the other members of the Shinsengumi had noticed his absence, they didn’t comment on it. As much as he hated being idle, he had asked for leave to recuperate, which Kondo granted immediately. Toshirou was grateful that Kondo respected his privacy enough not to pry or interfere, though the easy acquiescence might’ve had to do with their fight.
That was fine. After all, Toshirou wanted to settle his troubles himself. Their Commander’s fretting and hovering wouldn’t have helped.
Still, his symptoms were taking too long to manage, but he didn’t have the face to request for an extension. He had resumed his ordinary duties, though on a reduced capacity. Even when his patrol routes were shortened, he suffered from frequent bouts of exhaustion. It was frustrating.
Toshirou was awoken by Yamazaki’s quiet inquiry outside, accompanied by bird song that contributed to the pounding in his head. His fingers massaged his throbbing temples in small circles. “What is it?” he hissed between his gritted teeth.
He shouldn’t fault Yamazaki for disturbing his rest. It was the middle of the day. There were scattered documents on his table, neglected and tossed aside as he napped on the cluttered surface. It was no wonder that he had a crick in his neck and back.
Yamazaki said, in a tremulous voice, “...Vice-Commander, you’re late to the meeting.”
That wasn’t right. His schedule was supposed to be clear. Otherwise, he would’ve remembered setting an appointment. He wasn’t that forgetful, was he? Then again, his memory hadn’t been reliable recently. As much as he loathed to admit, the meeting might’ve slipped his mind.
Toshirou grimaced. That was another regulation he had broken.
“Fine,” he said, rather than verifying the information with Yamazaki. He listened as the beta dithered on his doorstep, as if waiting for further instruction. “Is there anything else?” he asked, detecting the hesitation in the sour scent in the air.
Yamazaki might’ve been a beta, but nothing could escape Toshirou’s nose.
“N-nothing, Vice-Commander!” Yamazaki squeaked.
Toshirou sighed, refusing to deal with Yamazaki’s skittishness. “You may go.”
After the beta’s footfalls had tapered into the distance, Toshirou finally rose to his feet. Since he was pressed for time, he walked into the adjacent bathroom and dunked his head in the wooden basin to freshen up. His hair dripped water onto his nape and onto the collar of his robes. He glanced at his reflection in the mirror, cringing at how bruised the area around his eyes was.
Although he wasn’t usually self-conscious, he couldn’t appear sleep rumpled in front of his colleagues. He dressed himself in the Shinsengumi uniform, the numerous layers too warm for the summer. It was too hot for the full ensemble – the dress code be damned – so he ditched the coat and cravat and dragged himself out of his room.
The banquet hall was in the center of the compound, leading into the courtyard. Whenever Toshirou had the opportunity to rest, he would lounge in the enagawa with warm sake and a smoke; it was simple pleasure, but he would lounge there like a contented cat. However, the nostalgia was quickly eclipsed by paranoia when snippets of a tense discussion drifted from the hall. Several voices were pitched higher, threads of rational arguments lost amidst the shouting.
Toshirou could hear Ito, Kondo, and… was that Shimaru? For as long as they had been acquainted, the captain of the third squad wouldn’t have involved himself in the conversation if he had the choice not to. What circumstance could have compelled Shimaru to step out of his comfort zone?
Heart in his throat, Toshirou quickened his pace. The moment he had appeared on the threshold, several pairs of eyes shifted to him, including Ito’s. There was a challenge in the blonde’s gaze, silent but potent.
“Hijikata-kun, how generous of you to grace us with your presence,” he said snidely.
The provocation was clear. Those within earshot fidgeted in their seats, caught in the crossfire between two aggressive omegas. The explosion of pheromones would’ve incapacitated alphas who’ve never been exposed to such concentration so close to the source. Someone behind Toshirou exhaled sharply – as if trying to expel the scent from his system; not that doing so would be helpful. Neither alphas nor betas had the mechanism to repel an omega’s pheromones. Even if they had an incredible control over their instincts, they would waver sooner or later.
Toshirou’s and Ito’s scents were contending for dominance. Ito’s scent was floral, reminiscent of fresh, spring breeze. If only the man himself was anywhere as pleasant as his scent.
Ordinarily, Toshirou would’ve brushed it off, but his patience had already been on the thin side. He crossed the room in a brisk stride, crowding Ito’s personal space. “You punk-”
“Toshi, stop! You haven’t been yourself,” Kondo reasoned, inserting himself between the omegas who were nearly chest to chest. He let his scent loose, morning dew on blades of grass. “You’re going to hurt Ito-sensei if you don’t control yourself.”
Rather than soothing Toshirou, Kondo’s scent irritated him further, which hadn’t happened before. Ito was a master swordsman himself. He wasn’t the damsel in distress that Kondo was painting him to be.
“Kondo-san, are you hearing yourself?” Toshirou nearly snarled, distancing himself from Kondo and Ito. Despite the inherent compatibility of their scents – flowers and grass, simple and borderline basic – Toshirou was repulsed by the combination of both. His gut turned in discomfort. “He doesn’t deserve your protection.”
Kondo frowned, “Toshi, how can you say that? Ito-sensei is part of the pack.”
That one statement cut to the heart of the matter.
“Part of the pack?” Toshirou laughed mirthlessly. “Since when?”
“It has been a year, Toshi,” Kondo said with evident disappointment in his tone. The heaviest of sighs parted from his lips, as if Toshirou had committed an atrocity that crossed Kondo’s bottom line.
Toshirou’s protests had withered in his throat.
Of course, as compassionate as the man was, Kondo had accepted Ito from the start – no affirmative act of assimilating Ito into the pack was necessary. It was typical of Kondo to forgo formalities, but it brought Toshirou a sense of trepidation instead of consolation; the shift in Kondo’s and Ito’s relationship had gone under Toshirou’s radar. Without the important social cues, he had misread and misjudged the entire situation. He had blindly believed in the strength of his bonds with his pack.
The ace in his sleeve was no advantage at all.
With reluctance, Kondo handed him a sheet of paper. As he skimmed over the contents, his fingers trembled. It was a suspension notice. There was no mistaking those seals at the bottom: Kondo’s and Sougo’s. The silence in the room was telling – the rest of the captains agreed with the decision.
It felt like betrayal.
The words blurred as he read through the list of his transgressions. The enumeration was extensive, the earliest entry being half a year ago. There were photos, too – they had been taken in his room in the barracks. There was nothing incriminating about the pictures themselves, but cold dread settled in his stomach. The empty packets in his trash were from his suppressants. He had the prescription and consultation slips from the hospital. His purchases were above board but without the context, it was easy to twist the evidence into something sinister like drug dependence.
What irritated Toshirou the most was this: someone had been monitoring him without his consent.
He gritted his teeth. Who had approved of this?
The answer was simple. He whirled around and glared at the likely culprit: Ito and his self-satisfied smirk.
Toshirou’s blood boiled. His lips pursed in frustration. There was no winning against everyone – the only one who hadn’t stamped his seal was Shimaru, whose pleas for Toshirou’s defense had fallen onto deaf ears. For what it was worth, Toshirou appreciated the other man’s support. When their eyes met, he murmured a ‘thank you’ which Shimaru reciprocated with an apologetic glance.
This was checkmate, then. Ito had him cornered in a trap.
Toshirou wasn’t the Shinsengumi’s strategist for nothing. Bitterly, he recognized that the window for an honorable retreat was closing. He couldn’t prevent the inevitable.
Against his wishes, he bowed and relinquished his seat beside Kondo, the suspension notice a hefty weight in his palm.
-
Toshirou had been packing his belongings when Yamazaki descended from his perch on the roof.
“Vice-Commander…” the spy started then hesitated.
In contrast to his dramatic entrance, Yamazaki's reluctant pacing on the enagawa irritated Toshirou.
“Who’s your Vice-Commander?” He snapped, scowling with a cigarette in his mouth. “What do you know?”
“I- I can’t say,” Yamazaki confessed. “Not yet.”
That was understandable. Toshirou wouldn't begrudge Yamazaki for the discretion; Prematurely revealing his findings might jeopardize the investigation, after all. If that were the case, then Toshirou wouldn't interfere. He hated that he had to delegate this assignment to Yamazaki at all – not that he didn’t trust the beta to accomplish whatever he had set out to do, but Ito was a dangerous man.
“I underestimated him,” Toshirou admitted, his fear leaking through the shakiness of his voice. “Don’t you dare make the same mistake.”
Yamazaki nodded, staring at his superior officer with a rare determination. “I won’t, Vice-Commander.”
“Don’t call me that. I’m no longer-” Toshirou paused. His tongue refused to push the rest of the words out. Instead, he settled for, “Hijikata will do.”
The implication of his slip of the tongue wasn’t lost on Yamazaki. While he wasn’t a particularly clever man, he was intelligent enough to be assigned as Toshirou’s subordinate. A pain in the ass the otaku might be, but Yamazaki had his uses.
“Vice-Commander is Vice-Commander,” Yamazaki said solemnly. “There’s no other.”
Something settled inside Toshirou’s chest at Yamazaki’s declaration. Even though his pack alphas – could he even call them ‘his’ at this point? – had abandoned him, there were those who remained staunchly loyal. Though he was exposing Yamazaki to unnecessary danger, he appreciated the faithfulness.
“Take care of yourself or it’ll be seppuku for you.”
The threat, it seemed, had no effect on the spy.
“Of course, Vice-Commander.” Yamazaki flashed Toshirou a small smile. “I’ll get to the bottom of this. You’ll see.”
Where was Yamazaki’s confidence coming from, Toshirou wondered.
Although he was touched by the promise, he wouldn’t let himself hope – as far as he was concerned, Ito was more than Yamazaki could handle by himself. If Ito wasn’t, then he wouldn’t have been able to uproot Toshirou from his position. He recognized how innately talented Ito was at manipulating people.
To Ito’s credit, no other omega would’ve broken Toshirou’s bonds with his pack. He had been theirs in the same way that they had been his for decades, but the return of his base scent – the honey and lime with nothing else – indicated that something had changed on a biological level.
Toshirou had to acknowledge the fact that he was no longer the pack omega. Kondo’s and Sougo’s scents were gone, as if Toshirou had never been scent marked by them. He should’ve realized it sooner, the reason why his symptoms had manifested with a vengeance, after having laid dormant for most of his stint with the Shinsengumi.
It was a mystery how Ito had shaken the hierarchy without him noticing. While he wasn’t the most emotionally astute person out there, he wasn’t dense. He should’ve felt the foundations of his relationships eroding beneath his feet. Ito must’ve done something – Yamazaki’s secrecy had hinted as much – and Toshirou desired to discover what it was.
If Ito thought that he could defeat Toshirou with his schemes, then he had another thing coming.
He might’ve been chased out of the compound, but he had a war to wage and a war to win. That snake better be prepared for his retaliation.