Rurouni Kenshin Fan Fiction ❯ Gathering of Wolves ❯ chapter 2 ( Chapter 2 )

I own nothing to do with any anime (s) this may be inspired by.

Miss Behavin-Thank you, thank you as always.

Adismar-You wanted more, how's this?

great spoofinie-I was never too thrilled with the whole S/S thing either but then I read the works of a certain Philalexandros (http://www.fanfiction.net/profile.php?userid=515818) ----And I was hooked!!!

Philalexandros-It's your own fault! You're the one who made the whole Saitou/Sano thing attractive in the first place.

Oh, and in later life (I'm not exactly sure when) Saitou worked as museum guard in Tokyo hence the museum reference.

A Gathering of Wolves

by

BarbaraSheridan

"How did you make out?" Katsu asked before Sano had made it across the room to the bar.

"Better than I thought I would." Sano grinned and ran his hand through his ever unruly hair then leaned over the western style oak bar to grab a bottle of American whiskey. He poured some in a small glass and gulped it down, closing his eyes as it seared a lovely, warm path down his throat and into other parts south. He looked to his friend again. "Now all I have to do is find a way to get the Wolf to Kyoto." He sat on one of the high stools and poured another drink, this time sipping slowly. "So, how was he while I was gone?"

"His usual insufferable self," Katsu said. "Even though he tried to hide it, I could tell he was lost without you."

Sano grinned and pushed his glass aside. "Can you hold down the place one more night?"

"Sure, why not?"

Sano winked then strode out and down the street towards home, whistling a sprightly tune. Letting himself in quietly, he stopped short in the doorway.

Saitou was looking at the photographs of his family displayed prominently on the black lacquered mantle in the main room of the comfortable western style house they bought together some years earlier.

It's getting close to that time of year, Sano thought as he watched Hajime reach out and run his index finger along the last photo taken of his late wife Tokio and their eldest son Tsutomu.

She'd been murdered by a man Saitou had once sent to prison for kidnapping and abusing a teenaged girl. The man had escaped from prison and sought out "Inspector Fujita" for revenge. He watched and waited and then one morning just after Hajime left for his job at the museum the man struck.

Sano closed his eyes a moment and remembered that awful day. He and Kenshin had been having lunch together and were passing the police station when a group of officers rushed out. Their accompanying sergeant was Myojin Yahiko who decided to join the police at twenty-five.

"There was a murder at the Fujita house! One of their sons just reported it!"

Sano hardly recognize the bloody lump in the bedroom as human though his numbed mind told him that it couldn't be Hajime. It was too small, the exposed piece of arm bone too delicate to have ever wielded a katana...

"It's ironic," Kenshin said later that night when Yahiko showed them a photo of the man responsible whom he'd apprehended within hours.

"I recognize that man as one who trained with me under Takasugi. He fought for the Ishin and today is the anniversary when the Shinsengumi executed so many of our leaders at the Ikedaya..."

Hajime's deep voice brought Sano out of his reverie.

"If you're going to sleep standing, at least close the door first, Ahou."

Sano made himself smile although the pain and regret he saw in the depths of the Wolf's amber eyes gnawed at his heart as it always did.

"I won't go to bed unless you promise to come with me."

The hint of a grin that curved Hajime's generous mouth was all the comfort and invitation Sano needed.

# # # # # #

"Not bad at all for an old-timer," Sano said still slightly out of breath from the shattering climax he and Hajime shared. He felt his lover's strong heartbeat against his chest and trailed his fingers up over the fading scars to the still broad shoulders until he came to caress Hajime's ruggedly handsome face. "I missed you."

"And I, you, Sanosuke..." he whispered, capturing Sano's mouth in a slow deep kiss. They made love again, this time Sano becoming the aggressor in a way that was uniquely, invigoratingly his.

Saitou smiled to himself once his body rhythms drifted gently down to normal and he felt Sanosuke's quick breaths slow and become steady against his bare back. Only his ahou could fall into the quick sleep of an innocent child. He shifted, turning on his side to face Sano and reached down to pull the covers over them.

A low fire burned in the hearth across the room and for a long time he watched the play of flickering yellow light on his companion's sleeping face. This relationship wasn't something he expected, or planned, or even accepted at first but once he admitted to himself that Sanosuke had become a real and important part of his life, the cold modern world he found himself living in had become a more tolerable place, in spite of the bleak memories and guilt he fought so hard to banish to the past where they belonged.

And while it troubled him to admit that his sons' disapproval bothered him, it did. True, they had come to respect Sanosuke as a man and accepted him into their homes on those rare occasions when they all gathered together, but they never truly understood how this love he had for Sano was not an affront to their dead mother.

They simply didn't understand and he knew that they couldn't understand his point of view on the matter. They were children of a different, more intolerant age and they'd never truly know what it was to be samurai.

While he himself hadn't been born into one of the elite families of the age he had been close enough to their circle through Matsudaira-san to have the old social standards drilled into him.

Men of his era were cautioned to keep a sword at their side even when sleeping with their own wife, for she was undoubtedly of samurai blood and might very well have her own family ambitions to uphold and act upon, whereas another man, a comrade, a warrior lived for Bushido and the honor it entailed.

A man could only truly lower his guard in the company of his fellows. Love, passion and above all trust were something shared with another warrior who would rather die than betray one of his own.

And Sagara Sanosuke, a decade and a half younger, a mere uneducated streetfighter, embodied that warrior spirit more than anyone in his world.

Smiling to himself once more, Saitou caressed his lover's face, slid closer until skin touched skin and closed his eyes to get his first decent night's sleep in almost two months.