A/N: This one came out of nowhere. Okay, that's not entirely true – I was re-watching episodes 186-187. There was a more serious (and even more drool worthy) Sougo present and his and Kagura's dynamics here were absolutely brilliant.

Fangirl-ism took over and THIS was the result.

As always, feel free to point out any errors/bad grammar. I have tried to edit it as much as possible but be sure to correct me if there's anything wrong!

Disclaimer: Gintama never has, never was and never will be my brainchild. I only write fan fictions inspired by it.

Tainted

"Some things can only be seen through a tainted eye." – Okita Sougo

It was a familiar place she had begun finding herself at – standing behind him as he casually lounged in the face of danger, heavy jacket abandoned. He sucked at a strawberry flavoured Chuubert, completely undeterred while she scanned the people standing there, swords raised.

It had happened once. Then another time. This time, the fifth such encounter, it was becoming a bit ridiculous.

"Oi, oi, didn't I tell you this would happen?" He scratched his sandy head nonchalantly.

"How was I supposed to know that this could happen multiple times? Just how many enemies do you have?"

"You are stupid, so stupid, China. I told you to stop triggering my death flag."

"And another thing, what the hell is a death flag? Is it something which is raised when you are dead? Can I kill you now? I really want to see it."

She was angry suddenly. She didn't know what annoyed her right now but fingers were pointed at that stupid calm demeanour of his. She could smell the hostility radiating off of these samurai, the thirst for vengeance, the desire to avenge their fallen comrades. They were unorganized so their aura did the talking for them better than any leader.

He ignored her declaration and stood up, discarding the empty plastic shell of the ice candy.

"Sorry," he addressed the men in that irritating self-assured tone, "but I really don't feel like dying today."

He drew his sword slowly, evidently savouring the feel of the blade. Her anger dissolved immediately – she wouldn't admit it but she found watching him in a fight was mesmerizing. She took a seat on the flimsy back of the wooden bench he had been sitting on, gripping at her ever-present parasol for comfort.

The samurai struck, a few running forward quickly, the burst of adrenalin working their brains for them. One had the time to shout something out of bravado.

"DIE SHINSENGUMI!"

He cut down the man swiftly, sharply. It was a fascinating experience watching him kill person after person. Maybe it was her Yato blood, that killer instinct, the sole explanation why she could feel her blood pumping at this display. His movements were fluid as he slashed the enemies, aiming for their vital organs. She had learnt that he tended to favour the torso when slaying people, particularly the stomach, probably to induce a slow, agonizing death.

A faint smile played on his lips and she realized just how much he enjoyed a carnage.

She almost smirked – he was a super sadist, a ruthless murderer, perfect for his line of profession.

She watched, completely absorbed. She loved those intense eyes, cold and calculating. They were just as crimson as the blood of the dead men that was swashed on his uniform, staining the previously white cravat and the sleeves of the equally clean shirt a deep red. The swiftness of his sword, the high speed at which he wielded the weapon, resulted in some of the red liquid spraying his face. He didn't make any movements to wipe it and she had a sudden primal urge to lick it off.

The last of the enemies dropped dead and he spitefully skewered him through the heart. Drawing the now dripping blade, he scrutinized it, his eyes narrowing because of the blood. He clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"What a mess…"

He pulled out a plain white handkerchief and wiped his sword clean before sheathing it. He stood on spot, analyzing his handiwork, mentally counting the dead bodies strewn around him. Twenty-seven Jouishishi members killed in just under five minutes.

"Must be some kind of a record." He smirked to himself callously.

She watched him walk back to her, not avoiding any dead appendages he stepped on. His soaked handkerchief was still in his hand and he had made no movement to clean himself up. He stood over her, just a couple of inches taller than her from where she was perched, and looked down.

"And that, is how you cut down a death flag." He said before purposefully licking a stray droplet near his lips.

She was still in a haze from the bloody massacre she had just witnessed, adrenalin overpowering all senses. She empathized with the now fallen men – only in his presence could she be this helpless. She regarded him through half-lidded eyes now.

"Ne, what did you mean when you said some things can only be seen through tainted eyes?"

He was assessing the damage on himself when her question came. He seemed slightly surprised that she remembered his words, so surprised that he didn't even offer a smart comment in return. Instead, he spoke in that detached tone he employed so often.

"Brats shouldn't be asking questions like that."

She inadvertently kicked him in the side.

"Stop calling me a brat, brat!"

Because her heart wasn't really into it, it didn't crack all of his ribs. Instead he just felt a sharp, debilitating pain. He was about to strangle her after letting loose a steady stream of dirty curses when he sensed her aggressive demeanour slide. It was something else entirely – he didn't even want to put a word on it.

"So, how can I have tainted eyes?" she asked, her steady grip on her parasol slacking and it fell on the bench with a soft thump. His eyes were wide as he realized that she didn't even comprehend what she was saying. He didn't even want to delve into what she might be unconsciously implying. She pulled him towards her, grasping his blood stained cravat without hesitation. He would've ran far, far away from her but her grip was unforgiving as was his now slowed reaction time.

He was lost in her azure eyes, swept away by the innocence they held. His natural malicious side took over, overpowering his rationality.

"Will you taint me?"

The question was unnecessary because her body seemed to have made up its mind as had his. They both lost control, victims to their respective bloodlust.

"Taint me…" she implored, her voice a bare whisper.

He had initiated it without really meaning to. He put his mind at ease by rationalizing – he really didn't have a choice against the monster hanging on to him relentlessly. The monster in question, closed her eyes delicately and expectantly. He never gave her that much thought, except when plotting revenge against her, but she looked more like a girl now than she ever did.

It wasn't a good sign.

Before he could hesitate or even contemplate their now closing distance, she gave his cravat a sharp tug. Her lips were warm and she tasted like that sour snack she couldn't get enough of. He caught a hint of strawberry as well, maybe she had stolen Yorozuya no Danna's beloved ice cream. Or maybe it was him, he couldn't really tell. His mind was curiously foggy at the moment.

This was different, he decided. It wasn't sweet, like every girl's first kiss should be, but neither was it rough. It carefully straddled the line in between, not wavering in either direction. Her tiny hand released its grasp from around (or close to) his neck. One went on his shoulder to support her precarious position, the other wiped his blood splattered face roughly. The same damp hand went into his hair, nails raking his scalp.

It was surprising – she wasn't repulsed by him, not even when she had seen him decimate numerous men with her own eyes. On the contrary, she was hungering for it. Or so he inferred from her wanting gasps. Encouraged by this, he released her hair from those ridiculous ornaments of hers and they fell to the ground with a soft clink.

Her hair was soft and sweetly scented with strawberries. He made a mental note to inform Danna that his obsession with the fruit was ridiculous. He threaded a hand through it slowly, relishing its silkiness. Before he could memorize the texture (because he doubted this would ever happen again), her arm which had been lazily resting on his shoulder, went around his neck, pushing them closer to each other. Their upper bodies touching now, the blood from his uniform seeped into her scarlet cheongsam.

He returned the favour by nipping at her bottom lip and coaxing her pretty little mouth open. He took care to be gentle lest she decided to take revenge by biting his tongue off. And, lord knows, she was capable of it too.

It was hot, he suddenly realized – too hot. They were in the shade and it was close to autumn and yet, the feel of the inside of her mouth was scorching. Her inexperience in this area became obvious when she had absolutely no idea what to do next. He took charge, engaging her tongue in a battle for superiority, just like they did at every one of their encounters.

Her soft moan at his action was his undoing.

His free hand ran up her exposed thigh. The skin under his calloused digits was supple and unbearably smooth. He traced little circles on it, savouring the contact. His hand went higher and higher, till it was near the split in her dress. Her mouth seemed to have stilled as she concentrated on what he was going to do next. The offending appendage in question hovered near the slit, mulling over his choices. Unsure of the next step, he glanced at her face and saw that hesitant expression in place.

Sensing that she wasn't ready, his mind finally snapped back to attention. His feat got to him, more than the fear of what the Yorozuya no Danna would do to him once he discovered about this misdeed. Doing what he should've done much earlier, he pushed her away.

She seemed partially relieved and partially disappointed. Her breath came in short spurts and she was occupied in adjusting her dress and avoiding any eye contact with him. He exhaled softly. Smoothing his hair back after adjusting his cravat, he spoke in his habitual drawl.

"I told you, brats shouldn't be talking like that."

The tone was uncaring and cold, like everything else he tended to do. She picked up her parasol and hopped off the bench in one graceful motion while he collected his jacket, slinging it over one arm. He eyed her briefly and then turned around, ready to walk away before speaking to her over his shoulder.

"We weren't here today, got that?"

"Whatever." She concurred uncaringly.

"I'll see you when I see you, China." He raised an arm in farewell before continuing to his destination.

"Sure Sadist." Her tone was biting, "Sure."

She unsteadily sheltered herself under her parasol after picking up her discarded hair ornaments and putting her hair back in their usual twin buns. The trance hadn't been lifted yet and she wondered precisely when had he put it on her. She put every other thought on hold as she continued her slow walk back. Her logical side only focused on the fuss Gin-chan and Shinpachi were going to make once she returned home, soaked in blood.

A/N: So… how was the walk inside my twisted mind? I was dying to pop in some unnatural comments in the middle (and I did) so I apologize if I ruined the mood. I can't stay too serious – it's a curse, I tell you.

Also, 'scarf' sounds so… pedestrian, so I used 'cravat' to describe Sougo's (uh…) 'scarf'.

So, REVIEW! Thanks for reading! :D