lunarshackles
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It happened in an instant. A single, gratifying, exhilarating instant; Usami’s knife bit into the flesh below Ogata’s shoulder. Ogata’s bedpan had slammed into him, again and again, and Usami had merely held on, merely twisted the knife until the blood bubbled up and stained his pristine robe crimson, until Usami’s fingers were slippery and black with it, until Ogata’s nostrils flared and he breathed hard and fast through his clenched teeth, until Usami could see the white rimming his black irises, until the other men rushed into the room and pried them apart-–
And now he kneels, blood spattering the seam of his trousers from his wasted nose, and Tsurumi is furious.
[In which Usami neglects to learn, as always.]
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A year ago, there had been a reunion, tearful and bursting with emotion. Ash had fallen into Eiji’s arms and wept at the relief of it, mutually mindful of the wounds that marred their sides. They had buzzed with excitement for weeks, slipping into the same intimate habits, sleeping side-by-side and whispering plans of moves to Tokyo and trips cross-country and everything else they could do now, liberated at last. Possibility had bloomed perennial. Finally, they were going to live.
It didn’t last.
[Ash survives. It isn't easy.]
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the awful edges where you end and I begin by lunarshackles
Fandoms: ゴールデンカムイ | Golden Kamuy (Manga)
20 Jan 2024
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He lies awake each night in the berths, suffocated by the soft, sleep-heavy breathing of his comrades, and pictures how deliciously simple it would be to smother each of them. How sweet, how gratifying would it feel? Like the euphoric, demulcent surge he’d felt when he’d lost his virginity, his envy excised with one swift and brutal stomp. It nearly tastes the same now, though he’s swaddled by the dark instead of the setting sun; it’s almost more indulgent, more permissive this way. How simple it would be to let loose. To rip and shred until only their blood remained in his teeth– until Tsurumi would have no choice but to acknowledge him again.
[or- Tsurumi gives his bad-tempered dog attention so that he doesn't kill his chickens when his back is turned.]
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Usami is nothing if not an excellent soldier. He is Tsurumi's most vicious, most devoted, most adoring-- his most cherished tool. He lives with his fangs bared and his jaw locked down, and he never, ever lets go. For that, Usami has always been rewarded; it began with an embrace in a sunset-soaked courtyard, the body of his best friend cooling beside them. Tsurumi's assuaging then- the succor of his scent, the gentle press of his hand, the murmured assurances that Usami remained his number one- had reshaped him like clay until he was pliant and eager and utterly Tsurumi's forevermore. Partners in crime.
But he has never been punished.
Usami sends a telegram and eagerly awaits the consequences.
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Sometimes he feels like Ash’s dog. Just a thing that sits and cries and scratches at locked doors. An inconvenience to a working man. Like some useless leech who loves his friend but can do nothing but steal his cigarettes.
And he can’t even do that. Eiji doesn’t smoke. Smoking kills.
Eiji waits, as he feels he knows nothing else.
Bookmarked by lunarshackles
07 Feb 2024